


Ignore the Story and See the Soul

by MarcellaBianca



Series: Ignore the Story and See the Soul [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fitness, Alternate Universe - Gym, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Yoga, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, And of Yuri on Ice, Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky is a huge fan of Skam, CrossFit, Dancing, Depression, Dirty Talk, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Medication, Meditation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Past Bucky Barnes/Brock, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Photography, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Tattooed Bucky Barnes, Teaching, Therapy, VERY brief Bucky/T'Challa, VERY brief Steve Rogers/Scott Lang, Vomiting, Yoga, Yoga Instructor Bucky, Yoga Instructor Bucky Barnes, dancer bucky, endgame is Stucky, slowest of slow burns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-02 05:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 43,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8653516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcellaBianca/pseuds/MarcellaBianca
Summary: Steve Rogers is doing great. He survived a tough childhood filled with illness and childhood asthma to become the owner of a lucrative "box" in Brooklyn, New York, alongside his best friend, Sam Wilson. He also works as a freelance artist and is slowly finding success in that side of his work. Overall, life is pretty awesome.And then he gets dragged to a yoga class, and a man with a full tattoo sleeve and a devastating smile just might upend Steve's great, normal life.Or - the yoga and Crossfit AU literally nobody asked for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally just an excuse to write about fitness and yoga as much as humanly possible while also writing about Stucky, because those videos of Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan working out will be the death of me. 
> 
> This is going to be ridiculous fluff with a lot of eventual smut, and I don't regret any of it. Non-beta'ed because I live on the edge.
> 
> Title is from Seane Corn, a yoga instructor that I greatly admire. "Ignore the story, and see the soul, and remember to love, you will never regret it."
> 
> All of the Crossfit WODs and eventual yoga poses and flows I'll be discussing are real and one hundred percent practiced in the real world. Let it be said however that I am NOT a Crossfit or a yoga instructor, just a very enthusiastic yogini who loves watching Seb work out in Don Saladino's Facebook streams.
> 
>  

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If your head gets any bigger your shirts won’t fit, Rogers,” Nat calls out warmly. Steve doesn’t care. Nat knows how hard he’s worked, how difficult some of the years have been, for his body to get where it is now. For his health to be what it is.

“ _Fuck_!”

“Everything okay, boss?” Natasha’s voice is concerned, but also slightly amused. Steve looks up with a nod and peels away a bit of ripped skin from his palm, hissing slightly. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just ripped some skin during that last pullup.” It’s his own fault – he didn’t chalk up enough. Rookie mistake. Natasha looks like she wants to concur but she knows better. She merely shrugs her shoulders and picks her kettlebell back up, while Steve hoists himself back up on the bars, the ripped skin a quick burn that slowly disappears as his mind fills with the number of reps. 

It’s a quieter morning at Crossfit Shield, the most successful Crossfit box in Brooklyn. Steve and Sam Wilson, his co-owner and business partner (as well as best friend since their days on the college soccer team) have been enjoying a pretty lucrative first quarter. Crossfit shows no sign of slowing down from its explosion onto the world fitness scene, and Steve and Sam have reaped nothing but benefits since first stumbling onto the workout while figuring out what to do next with their lives. Steve, a graphic novelist and freelance artist with a tour of duty in Iraq under his belt, and Sam, a fellow vet with a love of wellness and a side gig at the NYC VA office, immediately fell in love with the intensity and efficacy of Crossfit, and now, six years later, their dream of opening and operating their own box in their home base of Red Hook is finally a reality. 

Steve worried that owning his own box would cause him to get sick of the workouts, but he needn’t have worried – if anything, he’s more enthralled with the sport than ever. It’s quick, effective, and kicks your ass into the ground if you don’t respect it. Right now it’s 6AM and Steve is knocking out his own WOD, “Cindy,” before the first group class comes in at 6:30. Just enough time to figure out which WOD he’ll be teaching. 

“I might do Fran with the first group today,” he grunts, hopping down off the bar and going into his pushups. Nat snorts. “You’re kidding, right? You want this group to _like_ you.” She throws down her kettlebell and twists her arm over her head, stretching out her triceps. Steve gives her a dirty look as his body dips up and down. “They already like me, and don’t throw around my equipment. You break it, you buy it.”

 Nat laughs breathlessly. “If I say I’ll run out to get you a coffee will you forgive me for abusing your bells?”

“Ahh, Nat, you know the way to my heart,” Steve smirks. Natasha smiles, a real one this time, as she pulls a knee up to stretch her quad. She’s short but lithe and muscled, a compact fireball of deadly stillness. She works for the FBI in the New York Branch, and Steve never asks when she comes back after a long absence, eyes slightly emptier and body less likely to ratchet up the weight class. But Steve couldn’t ask for a better friend. Well, unless you counted Sam.

A few squats later, his timer goes off, and Steve collapses on top of a foam roller. “Ugh,” he groans goodnaturedly, swiping moisture off his brow. “That sucked. And that’s not even the only one of those I’m gonna do today.” He pushes his quad on top of the roller and winces in pain. “Goddammit. Nat, remind me to work on my mobility. My IT band is so fucked up.” 

“You mean, the same IT band that keeps bothering you every single time you do squats? The same IT band that I told you to stretch with some simple exercises that you keep forgetting to do?” Nat’s voice isn’t unkind at all as she drops into a side split. Steve rolls his eyes. “You know that things just drop out of my head, Nat.” 

“Bullshit,” Nat winks, bending her head until her nose touches her right knee. “Seriously, I have three free classes at Star Yoga. Been saving them up. I know you keep putting off going because they always check how many free classes I have left. I’ve told you, you can take those classes off my subscription. It’s no problem at all.” 

“Ugh.” Steve drops off the foam roller with a sigh and pulls his feet into a butterfly stretch. He quickly pushes the shape forward; his flexibility is completely fucked. “I know you’re going to keep bothering me until I go, right?” 

“You bet your ass,” Natasha muffles out from her leg. She switches positions so her left leg is in front in the split. “You need it. You’ve been doing WODs and teaching and training for that half-marathon. If you don’t get some stretching and mobility work in, your IT band is gonna snap like a rubber band. Sam went and absolutely loved it, right?” 

“Yeah, he told me.” Sam had come back to the box _soaked_ and raving about the class, saying he felt wrung out like a towel but he had finally popped a spot in his back that had been bugging him for weeks. Steve rolled it around in his head as he opened up his protein shake. “Okay. Fine. I’ll go. Are there any particular teachers that I should try out? The less ‘hold hands and pray for the earth’ shit, the better.” Not that Steve has any issues with anybody who does that kind of stuff. It’s just not something he wants to deal with in his workouts.

 “You’re such a jackass,” Nat says. She pushes up into a wheel position and Steve stops stretching to stare at her flexibility. At one point, Natasha had told him she had been in training to be a ballerina, but gave it up when she hurt her shoulder. The grace and lithe lines of her body still remain. When Nat comes back down from her pose, she flops hard onto her back to rest. “Darcy is really good. I also love Maria – she’s one of my really good friends, she got me to start coming in the first place. She teaches on Tuesday nights at 6PM. It’s a pretty easy class, lots of stretching. Good for your first one. Oh, and James is pretty awesome, but he doesn’t teach as much now that he’s probably going to take over owning the place from Bruce, so I don’t know his schedule.” 

“Okay. I’ll try Maria then.” Steve hoists himself up from the floor to grab a towel. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, covered in sweat, bare chest popping from the pullups, and holds back a soft smile. 

“If your head gets any bigger your shirts won’t fit, Rogers,” Nat calls out warmly. Steve doesn’t care. Nat knows how hard he’s worked, how difficult some of the years have been, for his body to get where it is now. For his _health_ to be what it is. 

He has just enough time to pull on a shirt and wipe off before his first class comes in, and he decides to walk them through a less difficult Hero WOD – the workouts of the day named after veterans who were killed in the line of duty. The point of them is to think about someone or something bigger than yourself, and Steve always feels a huge amount of pride and reverence when he completes a WOD named after one of these American heroes. 

After a quick warmup and strength exercises, Steve walks them through the WOD. They’re doing ‘JT’, named for a soldier killed in Afghanistan. It’s pretty straightforward, but strenuous if done to pace. Three rounds for time: 

  * 800 meter run
  * 50 back extensions
  * 50 situps



Steve normally participates in the WOD along with the group, but since he just completed his own workout, he chooses to sit this one out and coach from the side. That doesn’t mean he isn’t vocal and active in his coaching. “Great, great work Thor!” he yells at one of his regulars, a massive Swede with a brilliant smile who rips through the WOD like it’s a jog in the park. “Come on, MJ, you got this!” he calls after the college freshman with violently red hair, who immediately hops the train to NYU after her workouts. All in all, it’s a successful group class. It makes Steve glow from the inside out to help people realize their athletic and personal potential. It’s at these times that Crossfit is more than a workout. It’s a journey. 

*

 Aside from co-owning Crossfit Shield, Steve works as a freelance graphic artist, and lately he’s been getting more and more commissions. An art major in college, Steve sees the world in illustrations. His latest pitch, a pop-art series inspired by the Humans of New York project, has been receiving a lot of healthy buzz in the art circuit, and his book agent, Phil Coulson, says that they might even get Tony Stark as a patron. The thought makes Steve nearly choke on his salad during a lunch meeting with Phil the following Tuesday.

 “No shit. Tony Stark wants to buy my stuff?” Steve says, shock coloring his voice. Tony Stark is one of the biggest art buyers in the city. He’s come into Steve’s box a few times – Tony’s company, Stark Industries, has a leg that designs athletic equipment for a lot of national gym chains, and Tony was armed with loads of questions about how to make Crossfit more fiscally appealing to a wide range of gyms. Steve had politely declined a few requests; the special thing about Crossfit is its small-batch community feel with the box setup, despite the huge growth it’s been enjoying.

Phil waggles his phone at Steve. “He’s been blowing up my phone since he saw your last installation. I’m thinking we could get him on board and you could be literally rolling around in commissions for the rest of your natural life.” 

“Huh. That would be amazing,” Steve says, practically glowing. Phil smiles warmly and extends his hand. “I’ll keep in touch. I’ll call Tony this afternoon and we’ll work out the details. In the meantime, start working. Bookstores are selling out of _Ironheart_ , would be awesome if we got a sequel.” 

“You bet!” Steve says with glee. He slaps Phil’s hand with a high-five and practically skips out of the office. Aside from health and fitness, illustration and art is his baby. To be able to break out of the more indie circuit and make more of a name for himself? It was almost too good to be true. 

His good mood promptly dissipates when he pulls out his phone to text Nat the good news and he sees she’s already texted him. _Remember, yoga tonight!!! If you back out on me I swear to god I’ll throw a kettlebell at your head_

“Dammit,” he whispers to himself. His head crashes against the wall of the elevator before he types out his response. 

 _Don’t make me regret this, Romanov._  

NAT: _Trust me, Maria’s awesome. And I think James is coming too. He’s really nice!_

_Hold up. This isn’t about making me do yoga. You want to set me up, don’t you?_

NAT: ….*winky face emoji*

 _NATASHA ALIAOVNA ROMANOV_

NAT: _He’s so cute and so sweet, and I think you’d really like him! It’s been a year since you broke up with Pegs, you deserve something nice!_

The memory hits Steve’s throat like a vicegrip. Peggy was a brilliant, beautiful, wonderful woman, but she just wasn’t the one. They had both known it, but instead of talking about it like the adults they were, they pushed the relationship well past the expiration date because they were afraid of telling each other the truth. It finally came out in an eruption over one horrible Memorial Day weekend, and they were just starting to pick up the pieces to their fractured friendship. Steve would always love Peggy, but he had never been _in_ love with her. Since their breakup, at Nat’s urging, he had dated a few girls and the occasional guy (he came out as bisexual in college), but nothing had really stuck. Steve quite likes his life. He’s thirty, a business owner, and he likes the solid, steady routine of his days at the box, his afternoons sketching, and his frequent late night outings with Sam, Nat, and Nat’s husband Clint, another regular at the box with a sniper sense of humor and a heart of gold. Sure, he’d love a girl or guy to share it with, but it’s not at the top of his list of priorities. 

Still, Nat will probably bug him for days if he bails. So he takes in a deep sigh.

_Okay, I’ll meet you at Star Yoga at 5:30. Don’t make me regret this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How I picture Steve in this story - beefy with a "smedium" shirt.
> 
>  


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The phone is on silent, so Bucky can’t hear when Maria calls him. He’s busy. Everyone knows this time of afternoon is sacrosanct, a time when everything shuts off or is put away or is turned down. The lights are low. The candles are lit. He’s able to just be in his head, or outside of it when he can be, and he can just…breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm gonna flip on and off with the POV. I'm a regular yoga practitioner, so I am much more comfortable writing about yoga than I am Crossfit. It was only natural that I write POV for Bucky, too!

Chapter 2

The phone is on silent, so Bucky can’t hear when Maria calls him. He’s busy. Everyone knows this time of afternoon is sacrosanct, a time when everything shuts off or is put away or is turned down. The lights are low. The candles are lit. He’s able to just be in his head, or outside of it when he can be, and he can just…breathe.

He’s got the studio to himself before he has to go home and let Sarge out for his pre-dinner walk. Nobody’s around since Bruce took the day off to pack. He’s going to make the most of it. He doesn’t even use music for his practice, preferring his breathing to be the metronome that guides him.

Sweat rolls off his bare back. He stands in mountain pose and adjusts the spandex underneath his shorts. He doesn’t want Eighth Avenue getting a shot of his junk, after all.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Today’s mix is a little bit Ashtanga inspired with some funky poses mixed in to keep it interesting. Bucky was trained in the Ashtanga series and then received an extra 500 hour teacher training in a variety of other styles, and he keeps his classes varied so his clients don’t get too bored, but he likes to come back to the set series of postures in his private yoga space. It helps him marshall his brain and keep him focused. With everything going on, it’s a life-saver. In here, he can forget about all the responsibility Bruce is going to foist on him when he becomes the co-owner of Star Yoga, on all of the bullshit Pierce is heaping on him about when his new manuscript is going to get dropped off. Here, where he can breathe and move, life is what it is – a series of beginnings and endings that will be profoundly impacted by the way he can _react_ to them.

He pushes up into _utthita hasta pandangusthasana_ , extended hand-to-big-toe poes, and winches slightly at the strain in his hamstring. The run this morning included a bit of speedwork to break through a training plateau. Bucky wasn’t all that jazzed about running a half-marathon, preferring quick jogs to prep his body for the main event of his yoga practice, but Becca wanted to do it with Team in Training, and Bucky is as always a sucker for doing good works _Asteyta_ , the non-stealing part of the eight-fold path of yoga, also refers to ones’ capacity for generosity. (The only _yama_ Bucky balked at was _brahmacharya_ , commonly translated as “celibacy.” He’s not a monk, dammit.)

He pops down into a vinyasa, then pulls his mat to the wall for some handstand balance work. For all of his experience and six years of teaching, Bucky still has problems balancing in headstand away from the wall. He likes to think this lends him a sense of comradery with some of his more skittish students – if James “Bucky” Barnes, the tattooed rebel child of the New York yoga scene who’s been compared to Baron Baptiste, falls in handstand, surely it isn’t so intimidating after all? 

When Bucky leads teacher trainings he likes to go into his own story - how he was a dancer with the New York City Ballet's corps until a badly timed leap blew out his knee at 21 and he was forced into yoga as physical therapy. Then, the simultaneous dissolution of his first major relationship. How he fell in love with the practice as a way to deal with the grief of losing dance as his primary vocation and the loss of that partner, and Bucky doesn't do anything half-assed. He took to teacher training like a duck to water, and ever since he's been somewhat climbing the ranks of yoga teachers in the city as well as working on his writing career. He's had offers to go to LA to take on more celebrity yoga clients, but you'd have to pry Bucky Barnes out of Brooklyn with the Jaws of Life. 

For all the intense, sweat-drenched classes Bucky teaches - and he loves those classes and the devoted students who regularly attend - there's not much better than watching a beginner finally crack even a deceptively simple pose like downward facing dog, which is a resting asana but if the body isn't used to that position, it can make your entire body tremble. Seeing a student relax and surrender is what makes Bucky's heart beat harder. Of course, it's not about the poses but about what your body and mind can accomplish  _in_ the poses. 

Finally satisfied with his practice, Bucky flops down into savasana for a few minutes. The air in the studio is cool as spring weather rolls in through a crack in the window. For a moment in his seated meditation, Bucky winces at the thought of running the Brooklyn Half-Marathon in any month other than May. He may be an athlete, but Bucky Barnes is a wimp about the cold.

He blows out the candles and sweeps the floor before finally picking up his phone to see Maria has left him three voicemails. Not bothering to listen to them, Bucky just calls her. “Are you dead?” he jokes, jamming a straw through the top of his coconut water.

“Very funny,” Maria says breathlessly. Bucky listens closer and hears beeping in the background. Hospital. Shit "Seriously, is _someone_ dead?” he whispers, heart stopping for a second, the yogic peace and calm he’d just cultivated going right out the goddamn window.

“No, I promise, everything’s fine,” Maria replies. “Sharon got food poisoning and there was no one else around to get her to the hospital so she could get some fluids in her system. I don’t think I’ve seen someone puke that much since spring break in Jamaica.”

“Gross,” Bucky jokes. But he knows where this call is headed. “Do you need me to sub in for your 6:00? I might be a smidge late to that class, you know – I gotta go home to let the dog out. If I don’t, he’ll piss on the sofa. Again. I think he does it to spite me.” He’s been meaning to take that damn dog to get properly trained. 

“I’ll be your best friend in the entire known and unknown universe,” Maria wheedles. She could talk a dog off a meat wagon with that tone. And she’s a vegan. Bucky sighs and puts her on speaker so he can wipe off his torso. “Okay, fine. Is this the all-levels class or the Vigorous one?”

“Eh, it’s like an Advanced All-Levels. You can push them a little bit more, just don’t make them do anything crazy. It’s in the bigger room, and I’m sure the class will love to have you teach as a surprise big name instructor.”

“Oh shut up, Maria,” Bucky says with a sigh but it’s a warm one. “I’m not that big of a deal. Just because I got Tony Stark as a client doesn’t change shit.” 

“You keep telling yourself that, babe,” Maria says, a smile in her tone. She knows Bucky – knows how hard he works to maintain a calm and humble mindset after everything that’s happened. “How’s Sharon doing?” 

“She’s much better now that she’s got an IV in her arm. She’s not barfing AS much.” 

Bucky can dimly hear Sharon in the background saying thickly, “Tell Bucky I’m sorry and the next time he comes over I’ll make those tacos he likes so much. I’ll even put meat in them.” 

“Did you hear that, Buck? My best friend is making you _meat_ ,” Maria says. Bucky laughs. “Yes, I did, and tell your roommate I prefer carnitas.” 

He hangs up and shrugs on a long sleeve tshirt and windbreaker for the quick walk home to let Sarge out. The dog is a German Shepherd with a good nature and a happy face, but sometimes Bucky feels he’s just biding his time before starting a puppy revolution. 

His home is simple. He really tries to abide by the laws of simplicity, and his apartment is clean, rustic lines in varying shades of red and brown with throw rugs and posters. His most prized possession, a photo of himself with Kathryn Budig and Seane Corn, sits next to his bed. Bucky is a bit of a yoga fangirl, he has to admit. 

He’s watching Sarge attempt to furiously hump a chew toy rather than go outside when he gets a text from Nat. 

TASHA: _Maria told me you’re covering tonight?! So excited! Please play Eminem like last time!_

Bucky laughs to himself. _It’s Maria’s All-Levels class, I don’t think they’re ready for my full playlist. I might go soft._

TASHA: _Ugh. Okay, fine. Also I’m bringing a friend…_  

_This isn’t the friend you’ve been dying to set me up with, is it?_

TASHA: … _Maybe._ **poop emoji**

Bucky audibly groans, and Sarge looks up from his passionate maneuvers to cock a querulous eye at him. “Don’t judge me,” he hisses, then stares back down at his phone as if the phone itself could implode rather than get back to Nat about this. _The guy from your Crossfit gym? Tash, I don’t do meatheads. Well…I **do** them, but I don’t **date** them._

TASHA: _That sounds super judgy, Mister “I’m a yoga teacher and I tell my students not to judge people.”_

_…Well played._

TASHA: _LOL. Seriously, he’s so nice and smart and he loves dogs and art and fitness and everything you like. Did I mention he’s hot as fuck? If I weren’t married, I’d be on him in a second._

_I swear to God, if you’re trying to make a straight guy into dick…_

TASHA: _No, I swear he’s bi! Just give it a chance._

Bucky can’t help it. He smiles as he finally manages to drag his giant uncooperative dog out the door for the walk that should’ve happened ten minutes ago. Now he’s definitely going to be five minutes late to teach a class he wasn’t even supposed to teach, and now Nat is throwing a swole dude at him?

Today really couldn’t get any weirder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what I imagine my Bucky looking like, but with a full tattoo sleeve on his left arm. 
> 
>  


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The minutes tick by. Steve checks his watch. 6:05. Great. His first yoga class, and the instructor was late. Plus… “Your friend isn’t here, huh?” 
> 
> Nat doesn’t get to answer him, because the door flies open –
> 
> “Hi, everyone! I’m so sorry I’m late. I had to let Sarge out. You guys know the drill. That dog is out to undermine me at every moment of the day, I swear. But I’m here! How’s everyone doing tonight?”
> 
> The group murmurs their responses but Steve can’t talk. Because the guy that’s just walked in and settled himself down cross-legged on a mat at the very front of the room is, frankly, perfect looking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which our boys meet. It goes...well, it goes.

The main studio is up a flight of carpeted stairs that smell lightly of patchouli from the lit incense sticks at the entrance. Steve doesn’t mind that smell, but it does make him snicker a little bit. Of course there’s fucking patchouli. Next up there’ll be some dreadlocks or a tie-dyed shirt. 

But the entryway of Star Yoga isn’t what he was expecting. Instead of a ditzy hippie, a beautiful brunette with a lip piercing lounges at the front desk with a sincere smile. “Hi!” she says happily. “Is this your first time at Star Yoga?” 

“Uh, yes. What gave me away?” Steve chuckles, gesturing to his empty hands. Nat had told him Star Yoga has mats available to new students. The woman laughs in return. “Well, welcome to our studio. You’re going to love it here. I’m Darcy, I run the desk and keep the place looking nice and spiffy for all of our yogis and yoginis.” She hands Steve a sheet of paper. “You’ll have to fill out this info form so we can get you into the system. Are you going to be buying a single class or a package?” 

“Oh my friend is letting me take one of her classes. Natasha Romanov?” 

Darcy’s eyes light up. “Oh my God, I _love_ her! She’s so great. Is she coming tonight?” 

“Yeah! She’ll be here soon, apparently.” Steve looks around and is rewarded when Nat comes barreling up the stairs, yoga mat slung over her shoulder. “Sorry, sorry,” she blathers, scanning her keychain into the system to check into the class. “Steve’s going to take the 6:00 All Levels.” 

Darcy gives Nat a wicked grin. “You know who’s subbing in for that class, right?” 

“Oh, yes I do,” Nat giggles. The two girls high-five, and Steve just stands there like a bump on a log, feeling utterly confused. Darcy comes out from around the desk and brings Steve over to the hallway, where’s there’s a bench and a few hooks for people’s jackets and bags. “Here’s where you can drop your stuff. You can’t bring anything into the space, and make sure your shoes are off,” she says, her voice now quiet and almost reverent. “You’ll be in the bigger room and it’ll be slightly heated so your muscles can stretch. But it won’t be as hot as the more vigorous or Ashtanga classes.” 

“Ash…” Steve looks at her like she’s grown a second head. Darcy smiles but it isn’t making fun of him. “It’s a type of yoga. There’s a bunch of different kinds. That one is more of a set series of postures that grow in difficulty. The class you’ll be doing with Nat is more free-flowing and it changes every time.” She points to a door next to a giant pile of blankets. “The bathroom is that way, and through that open doorway-“ she gestures to the back – “there’s a lounge area with ginger tea and some books. Enjoy your class!” She hops back to the desk to check in more students. 

Steve feels comfortable at Crossfit Shield. It’s his home turf, where he calls the shots and knows the ins and outs of the work involved. Here is different. Steve hasn’t felt this out of place in a long time. 

A hand rests on his shoulder. “Hey. You gonna be okay? We don’t have to do this.” Nat’s voice is concerned. Steve shrugs it off. “No, it’s okay. Just all new stuff, you know?” 

“Totally. Come on, let’s go in and get set up.” 

The yoga room is dim but welcoming, with a small statue of what Steve can only assume is a Hindu god at the front of the room, buffeting an altar filled with unlit tea candles and an iPod deck. A few people are already in the room, throwing their mats down on the ground and talking quietly or stretching. They all look happy and relaxed. Steve can feel his tension ebbing bit by bit. Natasha unrolls both of their mats near the back of the room, to Steve’s gratitude, and she flops down onto hers with a delighted sigh as a few more people pour into the room. “I’m so excited. I haven’t taken a class in so long. This is going to feel great.” 

“Yeah, I bet,” Steve grunts, plopping down onto his mat (and really, Nat _had_ to pick out a pink one?) and tries to touch his toes. He fails miserably. “I’m going to get made fun of so hard by Maria, aren’t I?” 

“Definitely not by Maria,” Nat responds, with a look on her face that confuses the hell out of Steve. 

The minutes tick by. Steve checks his watch. 6:05. Great. His first yoga class, and the instructor was late. Plus… “Your friend isn’t here, huh?” 

Nat doesn’t get to answer him, because the door flies open – 

“Hi, everyone! I’m so sorry I’m late. I had to let Sarge out. You guys know the drill. That dog is out to undermine me at every moment of the day, I swear. But I’m here! How’s everyone doing tonight?”

The group murmurs their responses but Steve can’t talk. Because the guy that’s just walked in and settled himself down cross-legged on a mat at the very front of the room is, frankly, perfect looking. Tall, lean, but packed with muscle. He’s wearing a black long sleeved shirt and shorts with compression underneath, and his long-ish hair is gathered up in a messy bun that threatens to burst out of the elastic at any second. His eyes, grey-blue, swim with light and laughter. “Good, good. Now, I know you were all expecting Maria, but she had an emergency to attend to, so…you guys get me.” There’s some audible excitement throughout the room, and the man’s smile gets even brighter. “Aw, thanks guys. Don’t tell Maria you guys had that reaction. She’ll kill me.” The group laughs, and Steve finds himself smiling in spite of himself. “Now, who here is new to the class, or new to yoga in general?  

Steve doesn’t even have time to react before Natasha’s grabbing his hand and throwing it in the air. Thankfully, he’s not alone – three other people have their hands raised. The man throws each of them a grin, and when it lands on Steve he feels an actual chill curl up his spine. _Shit._ The man continues. “Welcome to all of you. I’m James.” 

Steve glances over at Natasha, who looks like the cat that got the cream. “Told you,” she mouths, and winks. Steve’s heart begins to thump wildly. The guy he’s been avoiding meeting turns out to be a total fucking stud. _Of course._

“Okay, so I know a lot of you have taken classes from me before, and you might be expecting me to kick your asses, but I know this is one of Maria’s All-Levels classes so I’m going to take it easy on you.” James’s voice drops into a lower register that gets Steve right in the solar plexus. “If you want to get your ass kicked, come to my class on Saturday.” 

It’s way too warm in here. 

“Okay, let’s find a comfortable seat,” James intones, calm and soothing. “I don’t really get into a lot of the meditation stuff when it’s a class like this. You don’t know where people are coming from, and I don’t want to distance anyone from the practice who’s coming into it for the first time.” _Thank God_ , Steve thinks to himself. “But I do want you to drop whatever you were doing or thinking before coming into this class,” James says. He takes in a deep breath and exhales, and the entire class follow suit. “Drop your day. Drop your story. Focus on what’s going to make you feel good. Whatever that means. If that means you push yourself harder, you do it. If it means you relax and use this time to just rest and recharge, that’s fantastic. Do what works for you.” 

At this point, James y could tell Steve to jump off a bridge in that tone and Steve would ask “Brooklyn or Tappan Zee?” It’s sending pleasant vibrations through his system, relaxing his muscles like Epsom salts.

From there, they move into the practice. Some of the stretches are familiar to Steve; Natasha’s made him do a few of them to stretch out his back after a particularly hard WOD. Others make his back pop and his thighs shake in ways he wasn’t expecting. James doesn’t participate in the practice, but after a few minutes, he gets up from his mat and walks around the room, graceful like a cat, to give adjustments. “If you don’t want me to touch you, please tell me and I will leave you alone,” he calls out while everyone pushes back into a pose that makes Steve feel like he’s going to collapse. “Eventually, this pose – downward facing dog - is going to be a resting pose for all of you,” James says breezily, moving a woman’s hand so it’s directly in line with the rest of her arm. “Right now, it might not feel like that. You might be thinking, ‘James, are you kidding me? There’s no way this is a resting pose, everything hurts.’” Steve can vaguely hear a few people laugh while blood fills his ears. “But that’s the beautiful thing about yoga. Beautiful thing about life, too. Everything gets easier and more restful the more you keep at it. It’s why it’s called a practice. Life isn’t linear. It isn’t perfect. You keep practicing. Keep improving. Keep making yourself the best you can be, and relax with what is.” 

If this were a little louder and filled with more grunts, James’s speech wouldn’t be out of place at a Crossfit box. Steve doesn’t have much time to ponder this point – he feels two strong, sure hands on his hips, guiding him slightly upward so his back can stretch. His head swims. 

He hears James murmur “Spread out your legs and feet so you aren’t as top-heavy.” Well damn, if _that_ doesn’t fill his head with delicious thoughts that are wildly out of place in a yoga class. 

At the end of the hour long practice James lets everyone find some wall space so they can work on inversions and finally Steve feels like he can do something useful. He’s done a bunch of WODs with handstand pushups, so he kicks up into the pose without any problem. He hears a low whistle. “Well done, newbie!” James calls from his spot at the other end of the room, spotting another student as she kicks up. Steve flushes slightly in a way that has nothing to do with the heat of the room. He avoids Nat’s gaze, positive she’s gloating her ass off right now. 

He spends the final resting pose trying to ward off all the shit he’s gotta get done tomorrow – open Shield, teach two classes, get some sketching done, and brainstorm some new comic projects with Wade and Peter. He does this despite James exhorting the class to “make your mind a blank.” _Not gonna happen, guy, I don’t care how hot you are._ He hears a deep sigh and surreptitiously turns his head to see where it’s coming from. James is kneeling in back of Natasha as she lies prone on her mat, stroking slow circles into her temples with his hands. He’s whispering quietly to her, words Steve can’t hear. But whatever he’s saying, it’s having a profound impact on Nat; Steve can see tear tracks on her face. He turns back up to face the ceiling and closes his eyes, feeling like he’s just intruded on something horribly personal. 

“Find your way back up to a comfortable seat,” James says softly, and the room slowly moves back to life. Steve maneuvers his now slightly more stretched out body to a cross-legged position. James gives the room a smile that lights up the darkness. “I hope you all had a wonderful time tonight. It was truly a pleasure seeing all of you and getting to watch all of you practice. And for those of you who are new – “ his eyes again land on Steve, and Steve fights back the urge to flush – “I hope to see you again, very soon.” He closes his eyes and puts his hands in a prayer position, and says something in a language Steve doesn’t understand. The class says the phrase back to him. Before he can really figure out what the hell just happened, the lights pick back up. 

Nat looks over at Steve, eyes bright and languid. She looks like she just took a nap. “Wasn’t that fantastic?” 

“Yeah, it was pretty good. Relaxing.” Steve has to admit, it felt really good to finally get a good stretch to his muscles. _And the view didn’t hurt, either_ , he thinks to himself, watching James bend over to pick up his bag. 

Nat rolls up her mat and sticks it in her gym bag. “Buck!” She waves at James. 

James looks over. His eyes light up. “Nat, seriously, how long has it been since our schedules have allowed you to take one of my classes!” They meet in a huge hug. Steve has to force himself to not feel jealous because _Nat is married and why am I jealous, oh my god…_

“Steve?” 

Steve jerks himself away from his thoughts and meets Nat’s amused gaze. “Yeah. Sorry. Head is a little fluffy.” 

“Oh, you’re yoga-stoned,” James says with an easy grin. “Happens to the best of us.” He gives him a once-over that’s both welcoming and downright penetrating. It makes Steve feel stark naked. “You’re Steve, right? The one that runs Crossfit Shield?”

“Yeah!” Steve says, way too enthusiastically. He immediately hates himself. “I mean, yeah, that’s me. You’re James, obviously.”

“Yep, that’s me. It was a pleasure having you in class. Nat’s told me a little bit about you. All horrible things.” He winks at Nat, who just laughs, and he extends his hand to Steve. “Great to finally meet you. Hope to see you back around here.” 

“Yeah, it was great,” Steve says vaguely, shaking James’s hand and feeling that strength that had just so recently gripped his hips and placed them _exactly_ where he felt they needed to be. _Oh man._  

James just smiles again, and motions over to Nat, who’s dropping off Steve’s mat to Darcy. “This one keeps telling me I need to come over to your box. I’ve done Crossfit before, but I have to confess I’m not very good at it.” 

“He’s lying, Steve. He’s fantastic.” Nat snaps up her jacket. 

Steve feels he’s in more of his element when talking about Crossfit. “I mean, it’s not that big of a deal if you’re not at a high weight class. It’s very adjustable to every skill level. You don’t need to be _good_ at it, it’s about finding your limits and seeing what you’re capable of.” 

“Well, I’m a fan of that,” James drawls. “That’s why I love yoga. Pushing your limits, but also checking in with the ego to make sure you aren’t hurting yourself.”

“Eh, that part doesn’t really jibe with Crossfit, unfortunately. Too many people act like idiots and get hurt. Not at my box, though,” Steve says confidently. 

The long, slow smile that spreads across James’s face at that is like raw honey over perfect toast. “Well. Good to know you’re a responsible athlete. You certainly look like you’ve benefited from the sport.” 

That was a come-on. It _had_ to be. But Steve won’t press his luck. “You should come over to the box. First class is free.” 

“I may have to take you up on that offer,” James nods, pushing up the sleeves of his shirt and Steve nearly has a heart attack. Visible from the wrist to the base of his bicep is a flood of brilliantly colored tattoos, but Steve doesn’t really get a good glimpse of any of them before Nat is whisking him away. “Come on, we gotta go, I promised Clint I’d DVR _The Voice_ and I completely forgot to do it,” she hisses. She blows a kiss over her shoulder at James. “Coffee next week?!” 

“Definitely!” James calls, and raises his eyebrows affectionately at Steve. “I’ll hopefully see you soon, Steve.” 

Steve can’t answer. His brain is fixated on the tattoos that snaked their way up James’s wrist and disappeared under the fabric of his shirt. Steve wanted to find out where those tattoos ended. Steve wanted to see more of that golden, lean skin. 

And he feels like he just came off like the biggest fucking meathead idiot of all time.   

He's fucked.

* 

The second the studio is empty Bucky flops down onto his mat, passing a hand over his face. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” he says, over and over, until Darcy makes her way into the room, bouncing on her toes.

“Boss, did you _see_ that?!” she squeals. “Was that the guy? Oh my God, Nat did not disappoint. He was a total fox. I’d hit it like the hammer of Thor.” 

“Dibs!” Bucky yells, then bursts out laughing. “Oh God, Darcy.” He rolls up his mat, body practically buzzing with excitement. “He’s so hot. He’s so fucking hot. I feel like he hated every second of my class, but he’s so hot I almost don’t care?”

“Well, if he’s not relationship material, at least you’ll get a good fuck out of him, right?” Darcy’s face is downright conspiring. Bucky sucks air behind his teeth. The thought of getting even _one_ fuck out of that godlike body was almost too much for his body to handle. “We’ll have to see. I told Nat I don’t do meatheads. And he seems kind of…blah?” 

“Blah?! I don’t care if he’s _braindead_ , he’s _gorgeous_ and you’re going to go out with him if only for the fact that it’ll make a great story.” Darcy sweeps up the floor and mops up some excess puddles from the notoriously sweaty client who always takes the left hand corner. “And hey, maybe he was just nervous. You could do a lot worse. You haven’t gone out with anyone since –“ 

“Yeah, I know. Since Brock.” He and Brock were not meant to last very long. It was tempestuous and crazy and by the end was about hate-fucking more than anything else. But Bucky stayed because he didn’t know what his life would be like without him. After they finally broke up, Bucky dove into the practice harder than ever, forgoing relationships in favor of growing his spiritual life. But the spiritual practice doesn’t laugh at dumb movies or eat chocolate late at night. He’s been longing for something more. 

This guy might not be something more. But he might be _something._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It will end happily, I swear!
> 
> [tumblr!](http://marciellaniello.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meetup point for the run isn’t too far from his place, so he makes it into a small warmup jog rather than taking a taxi or the subway. As he rounds the corner, he hears a big, pealing laugh that sounds like summer and fireworks and apple pie rolled into a delicious package. It nearly stops him in his tracks. Then, he sees where the laugh is coming from. He really stops short. 
> 
> He’s here. Steve goddamn Rogers is here at his Team in Training group, wearing running shorts and a tank top that makes his shoulders look godlike in proportion to everyone else around him. Sharon, Maria’s roommate and one of Bucky’s good friends, is standing right next to him, and they’re talking and laughing like they know each other. 
> 
> Well, isn’t this a small fuckin’ world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for surprise meetings and people being more than they originally appeared to be! 
> 
> Reminder - this is a slow, slow burn. So hold on tight.

The alarm goes off way too goddamned early. The only time Bucky’s set his alarm this early was when he took that trip to Mysore a few years ago to practice at the official Yoga Shala. 4:30 AM Full Primary Series, every single day. By the end of the week, Bucky’s entire body felt like pliant gold thread, focused and sharp.

 This, however…

 “I hate you, Becca,” he mumbles into the creases of his pillow before waving his arm around to find the loudly beeping culprit. 5:25 AM. _Lord, give me strength_.

 His sister, Becca, had begged Bucky to join her in running the Brooklyn Half Marathon for nearly three years. She ran it every year as part of Team in Training, which raises money for blood cancers. “It’s a good _cause_!” she wheedled at him over the phone, year after year, and finally, right before he turned thirty this year, Bucky gave in and joined her on some of her longer runs with the group. So far, it hasn’t been too bad – they’ve slowly worked up to their longest mileage so far, eight miles last week. Today, it’ll be nine. The thought of it makes Bucky’s hips, loose and open from years of yoga and dance, involuntarily seize up.

He swings his feet off the bed and nearly on top of Sarge, who’s taken to camping out at the side of the bed like a guard dog. “One of these days I’m going to step on you and it’s going to be your karma, not mine,” he murmurs. The dog doesn’t even flinch. He chokes down some toast with peanut butter, yanks on his compression socks and shorts, and after checking the weather on his phone he goes with a long sleeved Nike Dri-Fit shirt from a charity spin class he did a few weeks ago. 

He makes sure food is left out for the dog; Nat’s taking Sarge for the day so he won’t tear the hell out of the apartment like last time, but she won’t be around until at least 9. They’d gotten together for coffee like he’d promised, and Bucky had furiously worked to ignore asking her about Steve until finally Nat looked at him from over the top of her latte and smirked, “You know you want to ask, so do it.” 

“Fine. Is he that big of a meathead all the time?” As soon as it came out of his mouth, Bucky felt like a jackass. The look on Nat’s face confirmed his feeling, and he pressed on, “I know that’s so fucking judgy of me. But you know me. You know I don’t go for bros.” 

“Bucky. I swear to God, he just came off like that once.” Nat’s mouth is pursed in that _don’t be extra_ look she’s mastered down to a science. He’s one of the best guys I know. You could do a hell of a lot worse than Steve Rogers. You just have to meet him in a space where he’s comfortable.” 

Bucky gave her a slow smile as he bit into his bagel. “Yeah, well, maybe I can meet him in a space that’s _real_ comfortable – ow!” he jolted as Nat’s lightning-quick hand smacked him in the shoulder. “You better not fuck and run, Buck,” she warned. “Steve’s too good for that shit.”

But it’s been a week, and nothing. Steve hasn’t come back to a class, hasn’t even made an effort to reach out. Hell, even a Facebook friend request would have been great. But nope. Nothing. So Bucky’s just going to grin and bear it through this long run and try to forget about the dopey hot guy with the extremely big biceps and tight hips. 

The meetup point for the run isn’t too far from his place, so he makes it into a small warmup jog rather than taking a taxi or the subway. As he rounds the corner, he hears a big, pealing laugh that sounds like summer and fireworks and apple pie rolled into a delicious package. It nearly stops him in his tracks. Then, he sees where the laugh is coming from. He _really_ stops short. 

He’s here. Steve goddamn Rogers is _here_ at his Team in Training group, wearing running shorts and a tank top that makes his shoulders look godlike in proportion to everyone else around him. Sharon, Maria’s roommate and one of Bucky’s good friends, is standing right next to him, and they’re talking and laughing like they _know_ each other. 

 _Well, isn’t this a small fuckin’ world._  

Bucky self-consciously runs a hand through his hair in the hopes that he got most of the bedhead flattened down, and sucks down his Gu pre-run calories before making his way to the group. Becca’s at the front, dressed in the Team in Training purple shirt, and waves to Bucky. 

“Buck! Glad to see you could make it,” she says, checking her watch in an exaggerated way. Bucky rolls his eyes affectionately and sticks a water bottle in his Camelbak. “Yeah, yeah, let’s get this show on the road.” He deliberately looks over the group until his eyes meet Steve’s. They widen in recognition, and then…Steve _flushes._  

 _Oh god, Steve Rogers is a blusher._ Bucky can’t even believe his good fortune. It’s a blush that goes all the way into the collar of his shirt. Bucky suddenly, desperately wants to know how far down that blush goes. 

“Okay, so is everyone clear on the loop we’re going to be running today?” Becca shouts, yanking Bucky out of his early-morning daydream. He looks back at his sister, who completely ignores his consternation. “Make sure everyone is following our lead. We’re going to be taking it easy since it’s a longer run. And if you need to drop out at any point, let me or Sharon know.” Sharon waves from her position near the back. “Also, we’ve got some runners with us from a separate fundraising group out of Red Hook. They’re raising money for…aw, shit.” Becca looks abashed. “Remind me?”

“Oh, um, it’s for the Merck Childhood Asthma Network,” Steve pipes up, face now shy. Almost as if he’s recalling a past pain. Bucky throws him a comforting smile and the flush goes from pale pink to flamingo. _Oh God, could he get any cuter_? 

They’re off and running before he can really think of anything else to do. By mile 2, he yanks out his headphones and manages to sneak next to Sharon. “How are you feeling?” he manages to bust out as they crest a hill. 

“About a thousand times better, thanks. I’m probably not going to eat salmon for a few years, though,” Sharon cracks. They run and chat for a few more blocks, Bucky’s eyes squarely focused on the surprisingly skinny legs and damn _perfect_ ass of one mister Steve Rogers a few paces in front. “So how do you know Steve,” he whispers to Sharon. 

“Oh, I knew you had an ulterior motive, Barnes,” Sharon smiles broadly. “I go to his box. Plus I’ve been friends with him and Sam for a while. The guy that owns the place with him.”

“Oh, wait, _that_ Sam?” Now everything makes a hell of a lot more sense. Bucky’s met Sam Wilson half a dozen times. Whenever Sharon gets bored, or breaks up with someone, she immediately calls Sam for some no-strings-attached fun. Bucky likes Sam. He’s smart, funny, and devastatingly handsome. Too bad he’s straight as an arrow. Sharon nods and pulls one of the straws of her Camelbak towards her mouth to suck out some Gatorade. “Yeah! So I started going to the box and that’s how I met Steve. Nat was telling me about how she wanted to hook you guys up.” She gives Bucky’s ass a smack mid-stride. “Go up there and talk to him!” 

“Oh god, I can’t,” Bucky sighs. “He came to my yoga class and I think he hated it, and I think I hit on him a little too hard. I mean, can you blame me? Look at him. But yeah. He looked totally overwhelmed. And I think I gave him the impression that I think he’s a…” 

“Dudebro?” Sharon laughs. Bucky hangs his head. Sharon smiles. “No, I swear Buck. You’re wrong. Trust me.” 

They get a few more miles down before they take a quick water break, and Buck finds himself in front of Steve in the line to refill his Camelbak. He’s almost got the thing filled when he feels a tap on his shoulder. 

“Yes?” he turns around and is nearly struck dumb. Steve’s got a healthy, ruddy glow from their logged miles in the sun, and the sweat is sitting in salty rivulets on his face and neck. A disgusting part of Bucky that loves the healing properties of sweat wants to lick it straight off the skin and find out what the flesh beneath it tastes like. He pushes that thought right out of his head as Steve begins to speak. “I just wanted to say I hope I didn’t come off like too much of a bro at your yoga studio last week. I was out of my element, _clearly_ , and when I’m uncomfortable I kind of shut down.” 

“Hey don’t worry about it, it’s out of people’s comfort zones. You’re totally okay.” Bucky gives him a grin and swings his bag up on his shoulder. Steve pauses, eyes turning a little more hopeful, then barges ahead. “I was wondering if you’d, uh, if you’d like to run the rest of this with me? We don’t have to talk. I just…” he gestures to the air, helplessly, his big frame looking impossibly small in the wake of his discomfort. “Jesus, I totally suck at this. I’m sorry.” 

Bucky is _smitten._  

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to be good at it. You just have to be…here.” He gives Steve an affectionate clap on a hard, big shoulder. He jerks his head to the waiting group. “Come on. If we’re going to run together, we better get going. Becca will kick my ass if we hold her up.” 

They don’t really talk for the rest of the run, mainly because the last few miles of a long run are always horrible and Bucky really doesn’t want to talk to anyone, he doesn’t care _how_ intriguing and goodlooking the company is. 

By mile 8, Steve looks fresh as a daisy and Bucky literally wants to keel over and die, his legs moving forward by pure mental will. “I haaaaaate you, Becca,” he wails, and Steve laughs again, that laugh Bucky had heard earlier when he made his way to the group. It sits in Bucky’s chest like a butterfly popping free from the chrysalis. His legs hurt, and his chest is heavy from the strain, but that laugh makes everything feel lighter.

They round the corner to the starting point, marking off nine miles, and Bucky could chew off his own arm. “I could probably kill someone for an egg and cheese bagel,” he moans, stripping off his shirt to wipe off the back of his head and neck. “Anyone up for that?” 

“I am,” Steve says, quietly, and Bucky spins around to catch Steve’s eyes burning holes into him. It’s only then that Bucky remembers he doesn’t have a shirt on, and Steve is raking over his body like a surgeon prepping for the medical theatre. Now it’s Bucky’s turn to flush, and will himself to not get outwardly excited at the promises inherent in that look in Steve’s eye. 

“Well, let’s not waste time. I could eat about twelve right now.” Bucky winks, and throws his shirt back on. From the corner of his eye, he can see Becca and Sharon smiling.

* 

Steve looks so much more relaxed than he had at Star Yoga. Aside from the sweat, he doesn’t look like he did anything too exerting this morning. Normally that makes Bucky annoyed, but today he finds it charming as hell. An easy, affable smile crosses Steve’s face as he digs into his turkey bacon and egg on everything, while Bucky dunks his egg and avocado on plain into some ketchup. They’re sitting on stools at a local café, coffee and sandwiches between them. A perfect late-morning breakfast, as far as Bucky’s concerned. 

“I normally run with the group out of Red Hook, but our leader had to cancel and I couldn’t afford to do the run on another day, so Sharon invited me to join in with you guys this morning, Steve says. “I didn’t want to give up the run. I sometimes hate running but it’s for such a good cause. It’s really close to my heart. 

“Yeah?” Bucky braces his foot against the base of the counter. “Someone in your life have childhood asthma?” 

“Nope.” Steve suddenly looks a little small. “Me.”

“No shit!” Bucky sits up in his chair. “Never would have guessed it. Damn impressive you’re able to run this kind of mileage with asthmatic lungs. Didn’t even need your inhaler.” 

“Oh it doesn't get too bad now. It flares up every once and a while, but it was more childhood asthma. Childhood _everything_.” Steve looks downright bashful and Bucky nearly implodes in his seat. This guy is so cute Bucky can’t even stand it. “I was always _really_ sick as a kid. Asthma, constantly getting pneumonia, immune system like tracer paper. I was super small and frail. You wouldn’t believe it looking at me now.”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t.” Bucky’s eyes slightly widen when Steve brings out a photo from his wallet and slides it across the counter. A tiny, birdlike boy stares out from the snapshot, sitting on a curb, as two boys play basketball in the foreground of the picture. Even though the photo is worried and torn at the edges, Bucky can see in the boy’s eyes that he’s desperate to join in but he’s also terribly afraid.

“Oh, man.” Bucky’s voice is now whisper soft, and Steve’s eyes slant downward. His shoulders go up and he looks very similar to the boy in the photo. “Yeah. I almost died a few times. It was bad.” 

Bucky’s heart breaks a little bit. 

“How…” he starts to ask, then bites it back. “Sorry. I don't really think before I speak sometimes.”

“No, it’s okay!” Steve shakes off the remnants of his memories and takes another sip of his iced coffee. “Once I got to high school I had a growth spurt. Then the asthma started to even out. Once I was able to, you know, jog a few feet without dying, I started taking some all natural supplements and working with a trainer to put on some weight. Plus my mom's a nurse so she was able to help get me some medicines that were starting to come on to the market at that time. When 9/11 happened, I wanted to join up, so I waited until I was 18 and really worked hard.” The food, or the company, seems to embolden him, and Bucky doesn’t want him to stop talking. Now, or ever. So Steve keeps talking. “I did a tour of Iraq, then I had a flareup with my asthma and I got a medical discharge. I’m not too mad about that, though. I loved being in the Army, but I missed home. Missed my mom. I know, that’s so embarrassing,” he shakes his head, but Bucky waves it off, too enthralled with the story. “But I’m super close with my mom - lost my Dad when I was two - so being away from Brooklyn and away from her fucking sucked.” He takes a sip of his coffee. Bucky’s eyes watch the way his lips close around the straw. “Once I got out of my tour, I went to college, majored in art, met my now business partner Sam, and started Crossfit. And here we are.” He gives a bashful little smile that lights up his whole face. “I didn’t mean to give you my _entire_ life story, but ah well. That's me. Now you talk, because I feel like I keep word vomiting on and on about my shit and I don’t know anything about you. Other than the fact that you’re a good yoga teacher and you have tattoos.” He takes a huge bite of bagel, as if he's forbidding himself to talk further.

Bucky lets out a huffing little laugh. It’s either that, or throw all of the food on the table and make out with Steve like a teenager in a 1950s sex comedy. But he can restrain himself. He’s not a horny teenager. “Well, you’re correct. I’m a yoga teacher and I have tattoos,” he deadpans, and Steve’s smile gets broader. “I actually started out as a ballet dancer with the New York City Ballet. Then I did a bravura…it’s a set of really tricky steps to show off a dancer’s ability,” he translates, seeing Steve’s confusion, “and I just…I went the wrong way with my knee. My shoes weren’t gripping the floor enough, I think. Tore my MCL and my ACL. Was out of commission for a year. Went into yoga as physical therapy and completely fell in love with it.” He can’t help it; his tone gets dreamy when he talks about yoga. “It just helped me ease my mind after such a traumatic injury, you know? I was able to get back into my body and figure myself out again. Kind of like how you are with Crossfit, I assume?” 

“Totally,” Steve agrees, eyes fully fixed on Bucky in a penetrating stare that would make a lesser man look away. But Bucky’s not a lesser man. He just flashes a sassy smile and tears up a piece of bagel. “I tried to go back into ballet but my knee was just too wrecked. There was a lot of floating cartilage so I had to get a few surgeries on it. Eventually they gave up and put a screw in my knee after the third replacement ligament didn’t take.” He lifts up his knee and shows Steve the long, pinkish-white scar running over his knee. “It was absolutely awful. I’d been training as a dancer since I was 5 years old. I still miss it sometimes, of course. But without that injury I wouldn’t have found yoga, wouldn’t be where I am right now.” 

“Talking to me while I’m covered in salty sweat?” Steve interjects, a little bit of a smirk lacing his tone. Bucky hoots softly. “Yes, even talking to you while you're covered in salty sweat." _I want to know what else makes you sweat like that. I want to see where that sweat collects; in the divots of your hip points, at the back of your knee._  "Everything happens for a reason. Everything.” 

“That some of your yoga philosophy?” 

“Oh, you bet it is.” Bucky’s voice goes soft. He believes in what he’s about to say with all his heart. Without it, the world wouldn’t make a single piece of sense. “We are all meant to be exactly where we are, at every single moment. Everything is connected.” 

The air is very still. 

“Even President Trump?” 

Bucky groans, the magical moment shattered. “Oh my god, did you have to bring up that assclown?” 

“I’m still not over it. It’s going to be so gross,” Steve sighs, stirring up bits of ice and milk from the bottom of his coffee. “He has no mandate. Hillary is my President, as far as I’m concerned.” 

“Yeah. I was a Bernie guy for a while. But once he lost the primary I switched over to her. To the chagrin of some of my more leftist friends who all voted third party or didn’t vote at all.”

“Well, that’s their decision. Can’t say I agree, but I think with the current political climate, it’s hard for people to feel like they belong in either of the two major parties.” Steve leans back in his chair and Bucky forces himself to not gaze at the sheer gorgeous bulk of this man who is so much more than he seemed originally. “I just don’t like bullies. I don’t care where they’re from or what party they’re in. I couldn’t bring myself to vote for one, or support one. Can’t see myself starting now.” 

Bucky can’t help the smile that comes over his face. “I think you’re much more than you seem, Steve Rogers.” 

“You’d be surprised at how many people say that,” Steve winks. 

The conversation moves swiftly from topic to topic. Bucky finds out about Steve’s publishing career, and takes the opportunity to complain about Pierce and his demands as an independent publishing house. Right now he’s in a total mental block, and trying to come up with a new story seems totally fruitless. “It’s hard to find the time, especially since Bruce is leaving the studio and will probably be leaving it to me. I’ve been shadowing him at work, and teaching my own classes, and doing my charity work. Finding the time to write is hard.” 

“I’m the same with the art,” Steve agrees. “I just got some good news about a commission, so I’m trying to make that time for myself. It’s so important.” 

“Yeah, Nat was telling me you’re an artist, too? Like, comic books and stuff?”

“Yeah!” Steve goes all blushy again. “I illustrated a comic book a few years ago that’s been doing pretty well. Although I did the art under a pen name because I was kind of embarrassed about it at the time. It’s called _Ironheart._ ”

 “Holy shit.” Bucky’s eyes snap up. “You’re Steven Grant? You illustrated _Ironheart_?”

  
“Oh God, please don’t tell me you’ve read-“ 

“You bet I’ve read it. I loved it!.” Bucky can’t quite believe this. Hot, funny, sweet, soulful, and a damn good artist to boot? The art in _Ironheart_ , in his opinion, outweighs the story. The story was nice, a typical medieval quest narrative, but the art was soaring and complicated even in the most simple panels. It showed a beating heart when comic books sometimes sorely lack that humanity. When did the jackpot go off for Bucky Barnes? 

Steve looks positively tickled at the compliments. “Yeah. My agent wants a sequel so we have to talk to the author about it and see what he thinks.” 

“Do it!” Bucky nearly shouts, earning himself some dirty looks from the patrons near him. He doesn’t give a shit. “I’d read it in a heartbeat. 

And the smile Steve Rogers gives at that makes Bucky’s entire body feel fluttery.

Steve eventually excuses himself to go to the bathroom, and Bucky writes his number on a napkin and shoves it into Steve's jacket pocket. Shameless, but it usually works.

After another twenty minutes or so of easy conversation, the alarm on Bucky’s phone goes off. “Ah, man. I gotta go. Nat’s looking after the dog, and I promised I’d be back before he started World War 3 in her apartment.” 

“For someone who teaches peace and calm, your dog sounds a little bit out of control,” Steve snarks, getting up from his seat to clear away his food. Bucky laughs. “Yeah. I got him as a rescue a few years ago. He’s a fantastic dog, but sometimes he just doesn’t want to listen to anything I say. Dogs are like people sometimes. You gotta train them.”

 “Yeah, or you gotta let them go, I guess.” Steve’s smile falters just slightly, and Bucky can see a world of pain behind those gorgeous blue eyes. He’s going to have to find out what – or who – is the source of that pain. But not today. Today, he holds out his hand. “It was really awesome to talk to you again, Steve. I hope you can come to one of my classes again. Or I may have to stop by one of yours! Maybe it’s my turn?”

“You should!” Steve says, the momentary melancholy disappearing as quickly as it came. “They’re really fun. Plus Nat and Sharon come all the time. You’ll have a blast. I won’t kick your ass too bad. Unless you want me to.” He winks, and Bucky nearly turns into a puddle. He recovers some of his machismo just barely to wink back, and they shake hands.

“I’ll see you around, James,” Steve manages to say as Bucky walks out the door. Bucky turns around throws him his trademark grin. “Steve. Call me Bucky. James is what the people at the studio and the publishers call me.” 

“Then who calls you Bucky?” Steve asks, and the look on his face tells Bucky he immediately regrets asking. Bucky just shrugs. “Friends. And others. What you want to be is up to you.”

Bucky relishes the look on Steve’s face as he pushes his way out the door of the shop, his heart going a mile a minute. That look is anticipation mixed with promise. He picks up his phone and texts Nat. 

_On my way to get Sarge. See you in fifteen. Also – I’m a little bit in love with Steve Rogers._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve's laugh
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Bucky listening to Steve talk at breakfast
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Sharon telling Bucky that Steve is awesome
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Natasha convincing Bucky to quit being so judgy 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr!](http://marciellaniello.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had just given his entire life story to Bucky Barnes and Bucky had just smiled, laughed, and nodded along like it was nothing. He hadn’t said anything about his dating history, let alone what happened with Peggy, but he knew that probably wasn’t far down the pike, if this was going to turn into something. He had just been mesmerized by Bucky’s eyes, and his mouth, and his…everything, really. And this confident, bold guy was into him. He doesn’t know how to do this. How to let go and really let himself fall again. This is terrible. Or great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I love writing sexually frustrated and shy Steve Rogers and fully confident sex tiger Bucky Barnes. 
> 
> The Rating is officially up, guys!

When Steve arrives home after his lunch (date?) with Bucky, he fishes into his pocket for his keys. Fingers brush against a piece of paper that definitely wasn’t in there before he headed out in the morning. His eyes light up when he sees what’s written on it.

He had just given his entire life story to Bucky Barnes and Bucky had just smiled, laughed, and nodded along like it was nothing. He hadn’t said anything about his dating history, let alone what happened with Peggy, but he knew that probably wasn’t far down the pike, if this was going to turn into something. He had just been mesmerized by Bucky’s eyes, and his mouth, and his… _everything_ , really. And this confident, bold guy was into him. He doesn’t know how to do this. How to let go and really let himself fall again. This is terrible. Or great.

He’s sending a text message before he really thinks about it. 

 _I’m assuming this number artfully stuffed into in my coat pocket belongs to a certain running-hating yoga instructor?_

_Bucky: Smart man! I figured I’d do it before I forgot._

_Thanks! I was going to ask for it. Just…forgot, I guess._

_Bucky: Glad one of us has our head on straight. **Wink**_

_Well, figuratively speaking._

_Bucky: LOL!_

Steve’s chest gets all light and floaty at the thought of making Bucky laugh, with that big, broad smile and those crinkly blue eyes. He settles down in front of the TV and flips through the channels.

_Bucky: What are you up to today?_

_Aside from eating everything in the house? Probably just gonna chill and watch TV. Have to get some sketches done later on today._

_Bucky: Sounds fun. Any ideas?_

_Well, I had an idea for a new character._ Steve lets a smile spread across his face as he kicks his feet up. _A guy with a big smile, longish brown hair. Blue eyes._

_Bucky: Hmmm. Sounds familiar. He better not be a villain._

_Of course not. He’s the hero. Don’t know if I can incorporate yoga into it._

_Bucky: You can incorporate yoga into anything. Trust me. **Wink** _

Oh God, Steve is in so much fucking trouble.

His sketches that afternoon are filled with blue eyes and a lean frame and careful, expansive hands.

*

Bucky and Steve text intermittently over the next two days. Bucky is a shameless flirt, turning everything into double entendre. Steve flushes every single time. He doesn’t want to get too obsessed and text-happy, preferring to wait a little bit before replying to Bucky’s messages. Bucky, meanwhile, nearly always automatically responds unless he’s got a class to teach or a meeting to attend. Steve feels guilty about delaying his responses, but caring too much, falling too fast - it makes his heart tight with past pain. Past regrets. So he locks it all up tight. Puts it away with things he doesn't deserve.

On Thursday he walks into Crossfit Shield to find Sam doing butterfly pullups over on the high bar. “Well, hello there, stranger!” he calls out happily. Sam grunts out a hello as he finishes up the set.

“I’m so glad to be back on the East Coast. LA fucking sucks,” he smiles, swinging his arms to get some of the blood flowing again. Sam had been helping out at some of the Crossfit Open tournaments in California, since Steve had some art due for a client. It made sense for Sam to go, too – He’s got a gregarious personality. It made sense that he was attractive to Sharon Carter, who walks in shortly after Steve. Sam blows her a kiss and she cackles before seeing the board. “Steve, are you fucking kidding me? Why are we doing Murph?” 

“Because that’s on the list for WODs in the Crossfit Open and our box is participating. So if you don’t like that, go take a spin class or something.” Steve shrugs and strips off his hoodie. “You don’t have to wear the weight vest.” 

“What, and risk not showing up Bucky and Sam? Hell no,” Sharon grabs the weighted vest and sets it aside for later. 

“You tell Bucky about your WODs? Weird.” 

“No, she’d rather watch me get humiliated in person.” 

Steve’s eyes jerk up to see Bucky lope into the box. He looks good enough to eat. Long hair pushed back into that messy bun, athletic bag slung over his shoulder, dressed in his standard long-sleeved shirt and shorts. Steve selfishly wants him to wear something without sleeves so he can get a better look at those tattoos – the brief, tantalizing look he got after the long run was both too much and not nearly enough. He wants to sketch that arm in shades of gold and silver. 

He realizes he hasn’t said anything. He shakes his head like a dog coming in from the rain and offers up a smile. “Your turn to get taught?” he teases. Bucky smiles, and reaches for a vest. “I checked online. I like Murph.” 

“You’re insane!” Sharon howls. Bucky laughs and it rumbles through Steve like a train car. “What? It’s brutal as hell but it’s cool because of the endurance.” 

“Well, we’ll see how you feel after.” Steve risks a wink, and Bucky throws him a look filled with insouciance. 

“You gonna beat me up, Stevie?” Bucky says softly, pushing his tongue into the corner of his mouth. A challenge. Steve’s knees fucking _tremble._

He can practically hear Sharon rolling her eyes. 

The rest of the class arrives and Steve takes them through the warmups before getting into “Murph”, one of the most notorious Hero WODs in the Crossfit book. The WOD consists of a 1 mile run, then for time:

* 100 pullups

* 200 pushups

* 300 squats 

Then another 1 mile run. Normally, to complete the WOD as prescribed, you wear a 20 pound weight vest, but some of the class chooses to go without that. Bucky doesn't wear it either. "I feel like if I did that, my knee would never forgive me," he admits. Steve quietly loves that Bucky knows his limits.

He decides to do "Murph" with them, because he freakishly enjoys it, and Sam volunteers to sit it out. “I’m not a fan of voluntary torture, I got enough of that in Basic Training,” he laughs. Steve knows better – Sam's going to do it later with the 5PM class so Steve can hop over to the party at Stark Tower.

The first mile run is simple enough – Steve keeps near the back to watch out for any stragglers. Bucky completes that part without even breaking a sweat and Steve has to avoid just staring at him when they get back to the box.

Once they start the weight and squat part of the WOD, Steve gives up trying to ignore it and just stares openly at Bucky. While other people groan and pant their way through the squats and pushups, Bucky is a quiet machine. Efficient, strong, and damn near smiling throughout the whole thing. At one point he rips his shirt off mid-rep and Steve thanks every single god in the pantheon because holy _shit_. Steve is completely enthralled. They haven’t made sculptures as perfect as Bucky’s body. The tattoo sleeve is complicated with various symbols and religious iconography Steve’s unfamiliar with, but he wants to know about them. Wants Bucky to teach him the lessons behind his skin. 

Of course Bucky catches him looking, and the gaze he gives back is filled with so much heat that Steve has to go into the bathroom to throw cold water on his face and will away the sudden raging hardon he’s sporting. 

He almost doesn’t notice Sam grinning at him until they’re about to head back out for the second mile run and Sam grabs his arm. “You know, if you sucked his cock in the middle of the gym, it’d be less obvious.” There’s a smirk plastered on his mouth. Steve groans helplessly and walks out the door.

When the run ends, Bucky falls down onto the floor in a heap. “I hate you.” But he’s smiling joyously. The only other person Steve knows who’s that happy about working out is himself. 

Sharon’s pouring water over her head, much to Sam’s enjoyment. “I could use a burger the size of my face. Stupid paleo challenge,” she sighs. 

“Ugh, don’t tell me you’re doing that,” Bucky chimes in. “Paleo is so bad for you. Just eat regular food!” 

“I’m surprised you’re not vegan,” Steve says, suddenly, not really sure how he’s contributing to this conversation. Bucky laughs. “Nah. Everyone thinks I am because of the yoga. A few years ago I tried it for a few months, but I eventually cracked hard and ate a steak.” 

“Yeah. I like meat way too much to give it up,” Steve says, then immediately flushes purple. Bucky just raises an eyebrow. “Nothing beats sinking your teeth into the real thing.”

Sam snorts loud enough for it to echo through the box and Sharon studiously ignores everything that’s going on, throwing herself into a conversation with Wanda Maximoff on the other side of the gym. Bucky just laughs, and takes a long pull from his water bottle. “I gotta go get changed, anyway. Got invited to a shindig at Stark Tower tonight. Can’t exactly show up looking like wet dog.” 

“Really?” Steve’s residual arousal burns away into curiosity. “I’m going to that party too!” Tony Stark always throws a party at the beginning of the spring to celebrate another year of sobriety, aka not getting his ass thrown out onto the street by his long-suffering girlfriend, Pepper Potts. 

“Get out!” Bucky rubs a hand across his eyes in pleased surprise. “You know Tony? He’s a client.” 

“Same! He comes to the box. He also might be interested in buying some of my art.” Steve fights off the urge to sound bashful as he admits this. Bucky’s smile is low and easy. “Well, it’ll be nice to see you in something other than workout clothes?” 

“I don’t think you’re going to be too impressed – the suit I have isn’t necessarily the nicest thing in the world.” Steve doesn’t really spend money on clothes. Give him a good button down and a pair of jeans, and he’s a happy camper. Nat likes to tease that Steve’s fashion sense ended with World War II. But hey, classics are classics. Plus, his measurements can be all over the place, and sometimes those are the only things that fit a slim waist and big shoulders. 

Bucky just looks him up and down, yet again. He gives a small shrug, powerful shoulders sloping up and down. “It’s not the suit. It’s what’s inside the suit.”

Then he’s gone. Steve just did a workout that could level most athletes, but _now_ is when he feels like the breath has been punched from his body. 

“Okay, seriously?!” Sam yells from the office. “Get in here, Rogers.” 

When Steve pokes his head into the office Sam doesn’t even look up. He just advises, ”Please fuck him. You’re killing me here. I don’t even know the guy and I hope he turns you inside out. Just don’t do it here, okay? I don’t want to deal with the cleanup.”

Steve splutters, but Sam just chuckles and keeps going without letting Steve get a word in edgewise. “He likes you. Clearly. If he were any more obvious he would’ve bent you over the kettlebell rack. You need to get laid, kid. Been over a year since Peggy fucked you over. You deserve to get some. So go fetch it.” 

The way he says that makes Steve feel both enormous and terribly small. “I don’t know, Sam.” 

“Spare me the ‘I don’t know’ and the ‘I’m still recovering from Peggy’ BS,” Sam snaps, but there’s no malice behind it. “You guys broke up a year ago. You’ve dated other people. She’s with Angie. You need to get over her at some point. Might as well get under that guy. Or behind him. Or on top of him. He’s a yoga teacher, he’s probably flexible as fuck.” 

Steve leaves to the pealing sound of Sam’s laughter and his own embarrassed desire flushing him to the tips of his toes. 

When he gets home, Steve gets in the shower and thinks about Bucky’s eyes, his hands, his tattoos. A hand slides down the soaking wet plane of his stomach and curls around his cock, quickly fattening up at the memory of how Bucky looked at him – like he’d hung the moon. Like he was every cheat meal rolled into one. Like he was breath when Steve had been denied of it as an asthmatic, fine-boned bird of a boy. 

He lets himself give in to his needs, for once in his goddamned life. And what he needs – what he wants – is to put his hands on that man’s golden, lean body, to press his mouth to every swirling, vibrant tattoo. To see where his muscles begin and end. To watch what happens to his face when he comes. 

Steve’s orgasm hits him so hard he nearly slips and falls in the shower. He washes himself off, watches the evidence swirl down the drain. “Man,” he whispers to himself, almost laughing a little at how hard he just came. 

Tonight shouldn’t be difficult at all.

Probably the biggest lie Steve’s told himself in a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr!](http://marciellaniello.tumblr.com)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY.

Bucky gets back in the house and feeds Sarge before flopping down on the couch, ignoring the sweat still cooling on his body, and losing himself in a fantastic dream of getting pinned down by one Mr. Steve Rogers. His hips arc up and down at the thought: Steve stretching that gorgeous mouth, red and swollen, around his cock. Steve opening him up with tenderness but a rough edge that promises more. Steve pushing into him, bottoming out, then bracing those _ridiculous_ arms on either side of Bucky’s head (or, holy fuck, pinning Bucky’s wrists against the bed), and slamming into him, over and over, until the only thing he remembers is Steve’s name. When Bucky comes, it’s with a pleasant, loud cry. 

When he regains his composure he notices his phone buzzing on his desk. It’s Nat. He takes a fast shower, then calls her back. “I’m getting ready for that Stark gala thing. What’s up?” he asks.

“You’re going to kill that poor guy, I swear to God,” Nat says, tone filled with amusement. Bucky barks out a laugh. “Did he talk to you about the WOD? Nat, he kicked my ass. Not just the workout.” He lets out a sigh as he puts her on speaker so he can dry off and start putting his gala outfit together – he’s going with the black-on-black suit he wears to pretty much every single function that requires more than yoga pants. The last time he wore it was to the previous Stark party with Brock. The thought makes his eyes roll, and he pushes it away. 

“Yeah, he called me when he left the box. He’s got it bad, Buck. Actually, I think that’s an understatement. You’ve got him all twisted up in knots.” 

“And I didn’t even need to take him through a Primary series,” Bucky cracks, and Nat lets out a hoot. “Oh yoga teachers and their fucking jokes!” Her voice calms down a little bit. “But seriously, Buck. I just wanted to let you know that he’s going to be a tough nut to crack. Be gentle with him.” 

“I kind of figured,” Buck admits, smoothing his hair back with some gel and pulling it into a neat bun at the base of his neck. “He takes hours sometimes to text me back. I was wondering if I had stumbled into a flirtation with a guy who’s experimenting with bisexuality because he’s bored or perpetually single.” 

“Not the case, I swear,” Nat says and Bucky can _hear_ her eyes rolling. “I can’t really get into it because it’s not my story to tell. But he’s been through some shit. You gotta give him some time.” 

“Well he told me about how he used to be super skinny so does he still have some hang-ups about that?” Bucky can totally understand that point of view. Not so much with relationships, but in his work. He’s taught bodies of all shapes and sizes, given master classes on yoga for eating disorders, and he’s hugged and reassured dozens of people who’ve cried in his yoga teacher training after dealing with some undisclosed issue with their appearance.

Nat takes in a deep breath and Bucky pauses knotting his tie to wait for her to respond. “Nat?” He feels a pit in his stomach. “Do I want to know what happened?”

“Like I said Buck, it’s not my story to tell. Let him come to you.” Nat sounds calm but also terribly fond and sad at the same time. Bucky feels his heart sink a little bit. “Poor guy,” he murmurs. “I hope he doesn’t keep all that shit bottled up. He should come to one of my vigorous classes. Get some of that emotion out. It’s no good if you store all of that stuff away without dealing with it.” 

“Oh don’t go off on a yoga rant –“ Nat starts, but Bucky’s off. “We carry so much emotion in our bodies, Nat! If you don’t get them out or work through them they’ll just sit in there and they manifest as anxiety and depression. Our bodies remember every single thing that happens to us. That’s why you cry when we do hip openers, Nat!” 

“Yeah and if you could keep that down to a shout I’d appreciate it. I got a rep to uphold,” Nat says, trying to sound stern, but Bucky can tell she admires how passionate he is, and how much he’s helped her over the years. Her former life as a ballerina was plagued with people who tried to make her body into a honed weapon, but failed to locate the soul underneath. The first time she came to one of Bucky’s classes and truly got in touch with her body, she sobbed in savasana. That’s how they became friends. He’d take a bullet for that girl. 

“Okay, fine, I won’t flirt as hard with Steve. I’ll let him come to me. Whatever that means.” Bucky isn’t used to being the retiring type. It doesn’t fit his personality. He usually just grabs life by the balls. But it’s Steve. 

“I like him, Nat.” Bucky does. Bucky likes the way Steve’s eyes crinkle up when he smiles. Likes the big laugh that bursts out of that barrel chest. Likes the way he listens. Likes the way he cares about his mom. Likes the bits of red in his beard. He wants to feel that thing scratching along his thighs. 

“Earth to Bucky,” Nat says loudly. 

“Sorry. Got distracted. I just…I like him,” he says helplessly.

“Then trust me. Let him open up in his own time. He’s an amazing person. Just give him time. Now, on to the most important thing. What’re you going to wear to the party tonight?” 

Bucky grins to himself. He takes a selfie and sends it her way. The resounding whoop he gets through the phone lets him know he’s going to make _quite_ an entrance at Stark Tower tonight. 

*

Bucky lets out a low whistle as he steps out of the subway and into the main lobby of Stark Tower. “Happy Hunger Games,” he murmurs. The event looks like something out of the Capitol of Panem. It’s decked out for spring in sprays of pink and white flowers, definitely the work of Pepper Potts. Tony probably just wrote the check for the food and the amount of robot waiters. Bucky holds back a laugh at the thought of one of Tony’s misbehaving droids passing out crab cakes.

After about twenty minutes of nibbling on appetizers and networking with some clients that were also invited, Bucky waves across the room at the man of the hour. 

“Gumby!” Stark yells, whipping his way through the room like a fabulously accented tornado. He’s wearing a goddamn cravat, because _of course he is_ , and claps Bucky across the shoulder. “You are the person I’ve been meaning to talk to.” 

“Me?” Bucky grins as he accepts a glass of wine from a bartender who appears out of nowhere with some Cabernet. “I don’t know about that. I’m just your yoga teacher. I can’t really give you any money.”  


“Ah fuck that, I have plenty of money. I’m interested in expanding the wellness sector of my company.” Stark leans in, eyes bright with mischief. “Maybe do some calendars to raise money for charities?”

“Dammit, man, you know my Achilles heel!” Bucky exclaims. Bucky will do most things if it means the money is going somewhere helpful. Last year he posed in a few magazine spreads, and even got to participate in Broadway Bares at the insistence of some of his friends who were still involved with the NYC Ballet. Sure, the latter one had him dancing in a cage covered in gold glitter under the pretense of the “Burlesque” theme, but it raised money for Equity Fights AIDS and that’s all that mattered. 

“Awesome. Because I think I want to get some other people in the fitness community in New York involved too. I think it could be a really great project. People love charities, and people also love hot naked dudes. Not me in particular, but I know my audience. And speaking of hot dudes…” he whistles over Bucky’s shoulder. “Captain! Over here!” 

Bucky turns, and his heart literally stops.

Steve is standing ten feet behind him, holding some kind of appetizer on a toothpick. He’s dressed in a deep blue suit with matching tie and waistcoat, pressed white shirt starched and sharp. The suit stretches across his biceps and thighs like it can’t contain his physique. He looks like he fell out of the 1940s. His hair, normally mussed and sweaty from the times Bucky’s interacted with him, is slicked back, and his beard is trimmed.

Bucky thought Steve was hot before, when he was disheveled and partly through a workout or thrusting his way through pushups. But now, all cleaned up and squeezed into that suit that seemed to defy the laws of physics? 

He is the most gorgeous man Bucky has ever seen. 

His mouth goes dry. All of Nat’s advice comes flooding through his head like a river through a broken dam, but he just watches the words fly by. He can’t even come up with a good opener. For all of his posturing and preening and flirting, Bucky is completely speechless. 

He’s apparently not great at hiding how dumbstruck he is, because Steve is flushing that familiar, lovely shade of pink as he makes his way over to Bucky and Tony. “Hey Tony, you rang? Or rather, you whistled?” He smiles at Bucky, soft, quiet. “Hi, Buck.” 

 _Buck_. Bucky’s jaw drops slightly. Steve’s flush grows. “I mean, Bucky.” 

“No, I like it. Keep it,” Bucky practically whispers. “You look…wow.” 

“Yeah, I could say the same of you,” Steve replies, volume matching Bucky’s. His eyes pan over Bucky’s black suit like he’s stripping it off piece by piece. Bucky has to look away to keep from dragging him into the next room and dropping to his knees. 

“Tony, I was just about to chase Steve down for you!” Pepper Potts, the brains – and possibly brawn – of Stark Industries, swoops through at that very moment to chastise her partner, and Bucky has never been more grateful to see a woman in his entire life. Pepper as always is the epitome of old Hollywood in a diaphanous white dress that makes her look like a goddess. 

“Stellar timing as always, Ms. Potts,” Tony says breezily, pecking Pepper on the cheek. “I was just telling Barnes here about my idea for the charity calendar. I want to get a bunch of the best fitness professionals in the city together to raise money for the charities of their choice. We can put all of the photos into a calendar and then sell them individually. What do you think, Rogers?” 

“Wow, uh, that sounds really cool!” Steve exclaims. He scratches the back of his head in a bashful way. “I mean, do you really think they’d go for me in that thing?” 

“Steve, with all due respect, are you fucking kidding me? Have you looked in a mirror lately?!” Tony punches Steve in the arm. “Look at these things. You could probably stop a helicopter. Feel his arm, Bucky. Do it.” 

Bucky feels his cheeks get very hot. “Oh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind.” Steve’s voice is low again, almost hoarse. He holds out his arm and looks at Bucky with an expectant, lush gaze that nearly levels him. 

Bucky wills his dick to behave as he reaches out an arm to trail along one giant bicep, the way he’s been thinking for a solid week. The arm is pure steel underneath the suit sleeve. Bucky only allows himself to touch for a moment before jerking his hand back like he’s been stung. The room suddenly tilts on its axis as he catches Steve’s eye, and the heavy-lidded gaze Bucky gets back throws him hard. “Nice,” he says, throatily. “I don’t think anyone is going to be complaining about photos of you.”

The room’s volume is turned down to a low thrum. Steve shrugs and bites his lip. Bucky wants to chase that mark in his lip with his own, to suck on it and worry it down until it’s good and swollen. He’s about to say more when Steve’s desirous gaze suddenly morphs into sheer panic. “Oh, fuck,” he murmurs. 

“What-“ Bucky starts to ask, totally confused, and turns around. 

Standing off to the side, is an absolutely stunning woman, chatting to a friend. Tall and voluptuous, with perfect red lipstick, she carries herself like royalty. Her dress, a deep royal blue, sets off the undertones of her skin and the chestnut of her swept-back hair. She looks utterly confident. 

Even more perplexed, Bucky looks back at Steve. Sees Steve desperately try to rearrange his face into something resembling calm. And then it hits him like a truck. 

 _So this is what Nat meant by “He’s been through some shit.”_ Looks like that shit just walked in, in a smoking hot dress.

Tony, thankfully, seems to notice that the air has been sucked out of this portion of the room, and jumps in. “Oh, that’s Peggy Carter. You guys know her?” 

“Yeah, I do,” Bucky says. Peggy Carter is the owner and lead instructor at Howling Commando Cycle, one of the best in the niche market of spin boutiques in the city. Peggy’s known for her brusque, take-no-shit instruction style, killer playlists, and ferocious hill climbs. Bucky’s taken a few classes with her and even co-hosted a charity ride for Hodgkins Lymphoma a few months ago. 

He looks at Steve again, really looks at him. “Do you know her, too?” 

“You could say that,” Steve says, tightly.

Peggy sees them before Steve can say anything else, and her eyes get sad and even a little fearful. The pit in Bucky’s stomach gets bigger. Tony, having absolutely zero concept of “reading the room,” storms over to grab Peggy’s hand. “I was just about to come find you, too!” he hollers. “Peg, I want you to be part of this. It’s going to be a huge calendar event with a lot of different fitness people from-“ 

“Yes, I know, Tony. Pepper sent me an email,” Peggy interrupts, British accent cool and crisp. She smiles softly at Bucky. “Hi, James, it’s good to see you again.” She makes eye contact with Steve, and Bucky is shocked to see Steve practically shrink under her gaze. “Hi, Steve.”

“Peg.” Steve’s voice is so strained it could juice a lemon. "Excuse me, I'm going to go get something to drink." Before Peggy or the other woman can protest, Steve's walking fast to the bar.

Peggy’s lips briefly fall into a moue. She motions to the woman at her side. “Oh, James, I don’t think you’ve met Angie.”

“Hi,” Angie says brightly, sticking out her hand. “I’m Angie, Peggy’s fiancee.” 

_Ohhhhhhh. Fuck._

Everything crashes into place in Bucky’s brain and he quickly arranges his lungs and face to stop himself from giving away that he knows what’s going on. “Hi, Angie. James Barnes. Pleased to meet you.” 

“I have to say, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Pegs has told me so much about you! I want to set up a spinning-yoga doubleheader at the studio. I would love if you could come talk to us about possibly doing something like that.” Angie’s face is bright and Peggy clearly holds back a small smile of pride. 

“Oh, um, yeah! That would be great. Just let me know when you’d want to do something like that and I’ll check my schedule.” he throws her that trademarked Bucky Barnes grin. "Should I go looking for Steve? Maybe he'll want in on this." 

"Don't bother.” Peggy says with a sigh. “He can’t be around me anymore. It hurts too much.” 

“Still?” Angie’s face falls. “Fuck. Pegs, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come over here. I feel like an asshole.”

 “No, it’s okay, it’s not your fault,” Peggy reassures her. “It was just…he was so crushed when we broke up, and then you and I got together so quickly afterwards…and when he found out we were engaged…” she shakes her head, face dark. “I didn’t want to hurt him like that. I care about him too much. But…” 

“You fell in love, and he had to let you go,” Bucky mutters, not unkindly. Peggy throws him a look that he can’t really decipher, but there isn’t any sting to it. She takes Angie’s hand. “Yes. I suppose that’s it.”

After a few more minutes of small talk, Bucky politely excuses himself from the group to get something to eat, but really spends the next half hour valiantly searching for Steve. He finally manages to find out from the bartender that he saw someone in a bluish-black suit slip out the front door about twenty minutes earlier. Bucky’s heart drops like a stone. 

He picks his phone out of his pocket. _So, I think I know what happened to Steve._

_TASHA: How?  
  
_ _We’re both at that Stark party, and I think…his ex-girlfriend is here, with her girlfriend/fiancé?_

_TASHA: Oh my God, Pegs is there?! With Angie?! Did he freak out? Did he cry? Did he punch a wall?_

_No, Jesus!_ Bucky blinks in shock at his phone. _He just…left. Disappeared, more like. What the fuck did she do to him?_

_TASHA: Broke his heart, Bucky. Steve loved her to death but they couldn’t communicate and he was so busy with getting the box up and running, and he kept trying to make it work, but she just wasn’t in love with him. Neither was he, once he got honest with himself, but he didn’t know how to be with anyone else. They were together for like five years. It’s hard to let something like that go. Then, like, three weeks after they broke up, she told him she’d fallen in love with Angie. They’d been best friends since college and it just happened. Steve was devastated._

Bucky swears under his breath, irrationally furious at a woman he barely knows. _So that’s why he’s gunshy?_

_TASHA: Yeah. It fucked him up, Bucky. My advice? Stay away for now._

Bucky puts his phone back into his pocket with shaking fingers. He doesn’t know how the fuck he’s gotten so attached to Steve Rogers so quickly, but he almost hates it, now that he knows how much pain Steve’s in. The feelings of wanting to fuck Steve into his mattress slowly melts away, replaced with a longing to wrap that big body close in his arms and kiss every every crack on that big heart.

*

When he gets home, Steve sits down heavily on the couch, heart thudding in his chest, eyes redrimmed from trying to hold it in on the subway ride back to Brooklyn. He wants to go run twenty miles, or punch a hundred heavy bags. He does the most sane thing.

“Steve? Everything okay?” 

Steve swallows hard. “…No, Ma.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I SWEAR THIS STORY HAS A HAPPY ENDING.
> 
> Bucky's suit for the gala.
> 
> Steve's suit for the gala - also in my story, Steve has a beard. Because Chris Evans with a beard? Yes. 
> 
> [Tumblr!](http://marciellaniello.tumblr.com)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve saw Bucky working out at Shield during the WOD, but this is the first time he’s seen James Barnes, the rising yoga star of the five boroughs. Bucky moves like he’s underwater, loose and liquid, with muscles that slide and flex as if they’re made of something other than organic material. He easily flips over his feet into an extended pose, then binds his hands through his leg and behind his back, and his face is nearly beatific. Steve looks away – it’s so intimate, so personal, he feels guilty for watching it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoga!Bucky is baaaaaack and THIS IS THE SLOWEST OF SLOW BURNS.

 

“What did you do after seeing Peggy?”

Steve sighs. “Came home, called you.”

“You didn’t even get to talk to that man you’ve been seeing?” 

“Ma, we’re not seeing each other. We’ve just hung out a few times.” 

“Still, I can tell you like him. Your voice goes up a little bit when you talk about him.” 

Steve rolls his eyes even though Sarah Rogers can’t see it. He’s got his mother on speakerphone while getting changed into sleeping shorts and a tank top. His brain is swirling –there’s still the soft edges of the arousal that raged up when he first glimpsed Bucky at the party, all dressed up in that black suit with his hair slicked back, looking for all the world like a damn pinup. Steve had gotten hard at the very sight of him. He wanted to peel him out of that suit slowly, efficiently, to press open mouthed kisses to the solid muscle underneath. That yearning was bad enough, but when Bucky actually _touched_ Steve, put those sure and capable fingers on his bicep, it sent an electric current running underneath his skin, right below the surface. 

“Why did Pegs have to be there?” he groans. 

His mother laughs softly. “Sometimes the universe throws things in front of us because we have to confront them. I wish you had stayed and tried to talk to her. You were together for so long. I know you still care about her a lot.” 

“Yeah…I know.” He does. It’s not something you can just switch off. There’s a deep corner of Steve’s heart that will always belong to Peggy. It’s a little bruised and broken down, but it’s there. 

“And let’s be honest here, Steve.” Sarah’s voice takes on that tone that used to drive Steve nuts. “Did you really think Peggy was the one?” 

“Well, for a while there I did!” Steve says, indignant. 

“Of course, you did, everyone feels that way when it’s the first time they’ve loved someone that deeply,” Sarah replies. “But you know that it didn’t end that way for you two. You guys didn’t fit well together.” 

Steve has to agree. Their breakup had definitely been a long time coming. Steve had been working so hard to make his dream of owning a Crossfit box a reality, but that resulted in long hours, sleepless nights, easy disagreements. Peggy and Steve had really ceased to be “PeggyandSteve” months before they officially sat down and discussed breaking it off, but it still hurt like hell. Peggy was the first person Steve had dated seriously since college – her smart mouth, beautiful face, and British sensibility were irresistible. Steve had fallen hard, but in the fall, he’d gotten complacent. Peggy deserved someone who was able to love her in the way she deserved. She’d gotten that in Angie. No matter how much it hurt that she jumped so quickly to Angie – and it hurt like a bitch, if Steve really allowed himself to think about it for too long – Steve really did just want her to be happy. 

“I know. I think I just need to find someone else so I don’t have to deal with reprocessing all the grief, you know?” Steve pulls a blanket over his legs – no matter how many leg-centric WODs he does, he’ll always have little chicken calves. Not that he minds too much – Sam has huge thighs and always complains about finding pants that fit. 

“Well, I think you should talk to that man. See what happens. You sounded so happy about it the other day after you guys had breakfast.”

Of _course_ Steve had called Sarah right after Bucky had left the diner. He was nothing if not a total Mama’s boy. “Ma,” he’d said, voice trying hard to stamp out the excitement he felt. “I think I met someone pretty great.” He’d even called her both times he’d had sex for the first time (with a woman, then with a man). Nothing was off limits. 

“Okay. I just…I feel bad that I just left without telling him what was going on. I don’t know how to get back into this again, Mom.” 

“Use your words, Steve.”

“Ugh, Ma,” Steve demurs, but he knows she’s right. She always is. Kind of annoying, that.

 

*

 

This might be a total mistake.

Scartch that – this is probably a _huge_ mistake, Steve thinks, standing in front of the stairwell that leads to the entrance of Star Yoga. The incense floats in his nose. It’s different today – more floral. It immediately makes him think of Bucky. 

He squeezes his eyes shut to summon up what sangfroid he’s got left. It’s been two days since the gala and he’s thrown himself into work and sketching and storyboarding for the untitled sequel to _Ironheart_. Bucky texted him the next day asking if he was all right, but he didn’t answer. Stupid, Steve knows, but he figured it was better to just show up to the studio on a night Bucky’s teaching and talk to him after the class gets out. 

He arrives midway through Bucky’s regular Vigorous class (why yes, Steve may have memorized the yoga studio schedule).

“Steve, right?” Darcy greets him with a big pink-lipsticked smile. She holds out the scanner. “You taking the later class?”

“Oh! Um, no,” Steve stammers a little bit. “I’m here to talk to a friend. Is it okay if I wait in the lounge?”

“Go right ahead,” Darcy replies. Her face is a little crooked like she can see through Steve to his shirt tag. 

Steve shrugs off the gaze and moves to hang up his jacket. He’s slightly thrown by the music blasting through the walls of the larger class.

_Now this looks like a job for me, so everybody just follow me_

_‘Cause we need a little controversy_

_‘Cause it feels so empty without me_

“Yeah, he plays Eminem and Wiz Khalifa during this class,” Darcy says, noticing Steve’s face. “One time he made the whole class do sun salutes to the entirety of _The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill._ It’s awesome. Brutal but awesome.” 

Steve can’t really hold back the smile that floods his flace. “That’s…really cool.” He realizes he doesn’t really know Bucky, aside from the one nice brunch they had and the fact that he’d fuck the brunet six ways to Sunday if given the chance. But those little details, like the music he’s into? That’s something he can hold on to that has nothing to do with the physical urge. 

Beyond the door of the studio, he can hear Bucky shouting cues with an authority that rolls down Steve’s back like oil. “Inhale to one! Exhale to two! Inhale to reverse! Exhale, chatarunga! Inhale, upward dog! Exhale, downward dog! You can do this!”

He peeks through a window into the room and nearly passes out. First of all, the room is _packed_. Every single mat is bumped up against each other, leaving practically no room in between. Bodies rise and fall in a clear, focused rhythm. The room looks steaming hot; Steve could probably draw a picture on the moisture accumulating in the glass. Everyone’s face is slack, not the screwed up wincing Steve’s used to seeing at his workouts at Crossfit Shield. These people, men and women alike, of all shapes and sizes and strengths, look completely relaxed. Present. 

At the front of the room, practicing right along with all the students, is Bucky. His hair is coming out of his elastic and even though the window is closed, Steve can see the sweat gleaming off his arms and back.

Steve saw Bucky working out at Shield during the WOD, but this is the first time he’s seen James Barnes, the rising yoga star of the five boroughs. Bucky moves like he’s underwater, loose and liquid, with muscles that slide and flex as if they’re made of something other than organic material. He easily flips over his feet into an extended pose, then binds his hands through his leg and behind his back, and his face is nearly beatific. Steve looks away – it’s so intimate, so personal, he feels guilty for watching it. He turns around and nearly smacks headlong into Darcy, who’s crept up behind him and is staring at him with a gleeful look on her face. “What?” he snaps, then immediately feels terrible. “I’m sorry. You just…you snuck up on me.”

“He likes you too.” Darcy’s voice is matter of fact. Before Steve can say another word, Darcy’s practically skipping to the bathroom to grab the mat cleaning fluid and a washcloth.

 Heart hammering against his chest in a way it hasn’t done in years, Steve makes his way to the lounge where he pretends to read a book and _not_ freak out, until the change in music signifies that the class is winding down. He jumps up and peeks through the window again, and sees Bucky standing in the middle of the room. The students are all laying in that closing meditation posture, and Bucky’s voice is like honey as it washes through the room and over Steve’s body.

“Think about what you just accomplished. You got out of work, or wherever you were today, and you took this class because you had an intention. For some of you that means sweating a lot. For others, it means getting out of your head. And for others, it means dropping into your body for the first time all day. Or all week, or month. Whatever reason you’re here today, you’re here. And I’m so honored and privileged to have had the space to practice with you beautiful souls today.” Bucky sounds so sure of himself, so steady. It shakes Steve up. _I can’t even be okay to flirt with someone like that again. How is someone that confident going to be into a mess like me?_ That little voice didn’t pop up often but when it did it completely rattled him.

Then Bucky looks up from his meditative posture. His eyes catch Steve watching him from the window. _Shit. Shit shit shit shit fuck shit dammit._ Steve contemplates jumping out the plate glass office window next to Darcy’s desk and onto the busy Brooklyn street below, but before he and move a muscle, Bucky just smiles and mouths _hi_.

Steve fucking melts.

 

*

 

“Didn’t think I’d see you back here,” Bucky grins as he wipes off his stomach with a towel. Steve stands awkwardly as the rest of the class pushes past him. The room is _stifling_ hot. Steve’s clothes feel too tight. The sight of Bucky’s naked abdomen and broad shoulders doesn’t help, either.

“Yeah, well, I really wanted to talk to you about what happened,” he begins, forcing his voice to sound normal. “I should not have flaked out on you like that. It was a really dick move.”

 “Yeah, well, I’m just glad it wasn’t about me,” Bucky shrugs. “Nat kind of…filled me in on the whole deal.”

“…Remind me to shoot her in the face,” Steve grunts, face going blood hot. But Bucky puts a hand on his arm. The heat shifts into something far more worrisome and immediate. “Seriously. I get it. I completely get it. I don’t want to be that dick that makes you feel like you need to jump headlong into something.” Bucky looks around and leans in. “I think you’re really, really gorgeous. But I also think, from what I know of you, that you’re nice and decent, you're really strong to have gone through so much shit and still be a decent person...and you’ve got a really fantastic laugh." There's not much of the flirt in Bucky's voice. It's just downright sincere and painfully kind. 

Steve scratches the back of his head, damn near feeling bashful. “Oh come on, stop. You’re like…I mean, you’re amazing. You’re so confident and full of optimism and you want into a room and everything just stops and _also_ you’re hot and – I’m babbling again. Fuck. I’m sorry.” He wipes nonexistent sweat from his brow. “It’s fucking hot in here, huh?”

“Isn’t it great?” Bucky says breezily. “It helps to flush toxins out of your system. You leave feeling wrung out. It’s the best kind of exhaustion.” He almost looks like he wants to say more but thinks better of it. Steve isn’t a genius, but he has an idea of what Bucky’s thought process is like at the moment.

“Anyway,” Bucky continues. “I think you’re great. But, I also don’t want to rush you or make you feel like you’re being forced into anything. So I’m totally okay with being friends.” He sticks out his hand., the one attached to the arm covered in beautiful, intricate tattoos. “Friends?”

For one blistering moment, Steve wants to say “fuck it” and throw Bucky into the Star Yoga bathroom. Turn him around and make him hold on to the sink as he sinks his teeth and tongue and mouth into that flesh that just cries out for attention. But he doesn’t. He knows it’s not a good idea. And he’s starting to realize just how lucky he is, to have found a guy like Bucky who won’t push him just yet. Who’ll give him space. Who’ll respect the need to go slow.

“Friends.” He grabs Bucky’s hand and they shake.

He furiously avoids the reality that their hands touching is like the meeting of two brush fires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates might be a bit sporadic for a week or so - I've got a lot of grading to do! But this fic WILL get finished! 
> 
> That yoga playlist is based on a legit one i experienced. Our teacher made us do sun salutes to the ENTIRE Eminem song. It was amazing. 
> 
> The pose Bucky is doing is this one: 
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr!](http://marciellaniello.tumblr.com)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It would have been so much easier if Steve had just stayed as the kind of douche-looking hot as fuck guy that struggled through that first yoga class with Nat. Bucky could've gotten a blowjob and a good story out of that kind of guy. But no, Steve Rogers had to have all these layers. Had to be the man of Bucky's goddamn dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DON'T HATE ME, PART 2.

 

“You look completely miserable every time you leave that place, and I don’t think it’s because of the workouts.”

Bucky sucks a breath behind his teeth, pauses in his adjustments of Tony’s pose. “You know, I’ve designed this flow specifically so it would be too difficult for you to talk through most of it.”

“You clearly underestimate my ability to talk under stressful physical scenarios,” Tony grunts. Bucky rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. “I feel bad for Pepper. Keep your neck elongated at least.”

He walks to the front of the room, the private yoga studio in Stark Tower. He’s been punishing Tony for the better part of an hour and twenty minutes. Right now, Tony’s in flying eagle pose, and the bastard _is still talking_.

“All I’m saying is, it’s been a month. You’ve gone to his classes a ton, he’s gone to yours. You run together in that group every weekend. You’re practically up each other’s asses without…you know…”

“Oh my god, if you don’t shut up I’m going to make you hold wheel for three minutes,” Bucky scrapes out. “Vinyasa." 

Tony gracefully unwinds from the pose and pushes down into a pushup. As much as he drives Bucky crazy, he has to admit Tony is damn gifted at the practice. Tony took it up once he got sober and came around to Bucky’s classes a few times before hiring him privately. Bucky doesn’t feel at all bad about how much he charges for these classes. It’s Tony Stark. Of all people, he can afford it.

He turns down the music; Nas can wait. “It’s not something I prefer to talk about right now.”

“Bucky, it’s okay to like him. Hell, it’s okay to love him. Did you see his biceps?” Tony pushes back into downward facing dog. “And you’d have to be a world class idiot, or high, to not see the way he looks at you. Do I have to remind you what you told me last week?”

“Be better if you didn’t.” But it makes Bucky think about it, that’s for sure. _They’d been doing a WOD at the box. Bucky likes – loves – being around Steve when he’s at Crossfit Shield. Relaxed, happy, in control of the room. It makes Bucky feel good to know Steve’s comfortable. Plus, it’s hot as fuck to see him command all of those people like he’s back in the Army. Puts thoughts into his head that should probably not be there._

_At the end of the WOD Steve had flopped down on the mat like a dying fish. “Jesus Christ, that one never gets any fucking easier,” he groaned. Bucky had landed next to him with a hard laugh. “Well, maybe don’t fucking teach it anymore, Coach,” he gently ribbed. He was punished with a soft elbow to the shoulder. He turned to look at Steve . “Oh hey, you’ve got a…” He reached out before his brain could catch up with his hand, and slowly peeled off a small piece of kinesiology tape, the kind used to help athletes with injuries, that had gotten stuck to the side of his face. Steve didn’t stop him, just stared at him. Bucky’s hand moved a centimeter back after discarding the tape. Almost touching skin now._

_Scarcely even breathing, Bucky moved his thumb over Steve’s temple to push back a straggling lock of hair that had fallen loose during the WOD. He almost thought better of it until he noticed Steve was flushing again. It might as well have been a “go” green light. They were so close he could just move forward half an inch. Maybe move his thumb over those pouty, sweat-slick lips. Maybe Steve would shove him off. But maybe, maybe he would let Bucky's thumb slip into his mouth, move his tongue over it, Christ, like Bucky's imagined countless times Steve'd move that tongue over his -_

_A pounding at the door jerked Steve away from Bucky’s touch and off the mat. “Oh fuck, I promised I’d keep that door open for Sam. He went out to get more of those protein bars for the shop.” He pushed a hand back through his sweaty hair. Bucky propped himself up on his elbows, looked at him. He nodded. When Steve went into his office, Bucky stood up, walked into the box bathroom, and ungracefully, furiously jerked himself off so he wouldn't be hard on the walk home._

“If Sam hadn’t interrupted would you had made a move?” Tony inquires. Bucky lets out a sigh and cues Tony to push up into handstand. “I don’t know. Maybe. It didn’t seem like he was aching to pull away. But when that knock happened he jumped like he got shot.”

“Well the guy is still really gunshy, probably.” Tony’s voice is a little strained in his current position upside down, but he manages. “You might need to ride it out. So to speak.”

“Good God, do you know how to have a conversation without it devolving into sex puns?!” Bucky chides.

Tony easily flips out of handstand and gives Bucky a Look. “People in glass houses, Barnes.”

Bucky's gotta give Tony that one. The only person as good at making anything into a sexual reference is James Barnes. But he’s been good. He really has been. He’s kept his distance. Made their friendship just that, a friendship. One based on mutual respect, honesty, and keeping his goddamn hands off Steve Rogers.

It’s been fucking _torture_ , mainly because Steve is amazingly paradoxical in a way that's relentlessly attractive to Bucky. He's a big, beefy guy, but a big beefy guy who loves Disney movies and can confidently name every single member of the X-Men, both former and current "Blame my childhood of being sick in hospitals with nothing but comic books," he said to Bucky bashfully one night over pizza and beers. 

Bucky has come to find that behind that shy exterior lies the heart of a lion. He has to laugh every single time he logs onto Facebook because Steve’s always got an articulate, furious feminist or anti-racist or anti-fascist rant at the ready for whatever cause is pissing him off the most, and at least twice he’s had to persuade the blond out of physically fighting someone at a bar when they got too handsy or mouthy with one of the female wait staff. That passion, which comes out rarely, is like a shook up soda bottle aimed right at Bucky’s heart. He can’t get enough of it. It thrills and arouses him to no end.

It would have been so much easier if Steve had just stayed as the kind of douche-looking hot as fuck guy that struggled through that first yoga class with Nat. Bucky could've gotten a blowjob and a good story out of that kind of guy. But no, Steve Rogers had to have all these _layers_. Had to be the man of Bucky's goddamn dreams. 

And the man of Bucky's dreams is dragging his feet to the point of standing still. There hasn't been  _any_ talk of them progressing beyond friendship since that last awkward conversation at Star. Despite Nat encouraging him to just be patient, Bucky can feel his Ayurvedic impulses ratcheting up. It's spring, the time of year for the  _pitta_ dosha (the bodily constitution that makes one feel fiery and impatient) to skyrocket. Bucky's been antsy. In more ways than one. 

“I’m trying,” He says now, quietly, as Tony lays back in reclined pigeon. “We get along so well as friends. Which is fine. I love hanging out with him. But as far as the other stuff...I can’t wait around forever for him to be ready.” He sits down cross-legged in front of Tony's mat. "I don't want to hang my hat on something that may or may not happen."

“Nor should you,” Tony responds, his voice now a bit more circumspect. It unnerves Bucky – It sounds weird when Tony Stark is serious. Like an illfitting suit jacket. Bucky shrugs. Tony switches legs. “Do you love him?"

Bucky snaps his head up. Tony raises his eyebrows. "Hey, it's a valid question, Fabio. Do you love him or not?"

Bucky can feel himself turning as red as Steve did that day at the box. "I...maybe?"

"Do you think he'll ever be ready?"

Bucky feels his heart sink. "I don't know."

"Have you tried to go out with anyone else?” 

“Well…if we’re being totally honest, there’s a guy that we’re vetting to teach at the studio and he’s _really_ cute and he keeps asking me out but I keep saying no,” Bucky admits. "It feels like I'm cheating." 

“On a guy you're not even dating? You’re a fucking idiot.” 

“And _you’re_ supposed to be in corpse pose, so keep your mouth shut,” Bucky retorts, with no bite behind it. He sets his timer. “You’ve got until the end of this Sia song. I dare you to be silent.”

If there’s anything Tony Stark loves more than robots, it’s a dare. He barely breathes for the entirety of “Cellophane.” 

When they’re done with the closing meditation, Tony hops up to grab a towel. “I think you should go out with this guy. It isn’t the worst thing in the world to explore all of your options.” 

“Yeah. I know. But what if-“ 

“Jesus Christ, for a yoga teacher you sure fret a lot,” Tony jokes. He pulls a photo album off of a nearby table. “That’s the end of the discussion. You’re going to go out with whoever this guy is, and I’m going to want to know all of the kinky details. You’re both yoga teachers. The sex should be ridiculous.” Before Bucky can respond Tony makes a “shhh” sound, flips open the album. “Changing the subject! Calendar talk. I’m going to set up the shoot for sometime in June, and I’m thinking about hiring this guy who’s been very highly recommended. Last name’s Parker.”

 

*

 

_I’m thinking about asking Lang out, the new guy at Star. What do you think?_

Bucky stares at the text message for a little while. He blinks a couple of times. His heart feels like it’s heavy in his chest. Why does this feel like he’s cheating? Steve isn’t interested. He won’t be interested for a long time. So might as well have some fun in the meantime. 

He finally sends the text to Nat and pops the phone on the table just in time for Steve to walk into the yoga lounge, looking tan and gorgeous as ever. He’s dressed in a tight Under Armor shirt that might as well be a baby-T, the way it’s stretched over his pecs and abs. Bucky very briefly loses the ability to form sentences. He can’t help it. “Hey! Taking my 10AM?” he manages to croak. 

“Yeah, my IT band is really bad. Figured a stretchy class would be good for it.” Steve has the nerve to wink, and Bucky’s really glad he’s sitting down because his knees would have given right out. He mumbles, “Good, let me just go back up to the front and check with Darcy how many classes you’ve got left.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to, I bought a package.” 

“No way!” 

“Yep. You’re stuck with me for this 10AM class, Buck.” 

There he goes again with _Buck._ It rolls over Bucky in a wave. He tries to shrug it off but it sticks to his ribs like oil. 

When he comes back to the desk after talking some shop with a very smirky-looking Darcy, Steve’s already in the studio. He’s about to follow when his phone buzzes.

_TASHA: Okay so I wasn’t going to tell you this since I know you’re trying to be friends with Steve but you’ve forced my hand – The other day I went to the box and saw Lang and Steve there (he works out at the box sometimes), and they were clearly, uh, together…and after the WOD I went to the back office to grab more chalk and they were in there. And…let’s just say they weren’t talking shop. I’m sorry. **frowny face emoji**_ ****

Bucky knows, intrinsically, that everything happens for a reason. When he took a workshop a few years ago with Seane Corn, the beautiful, wild-haired yogini sat on the stage and insisted that “On a human level, an ego level, things can be a challenge, but our soul and spirit are _hungry_ for these kinds of experiences. Every single thing that happens to you is out of a need for your individual soul to transform. It’s an opportunity to connect to the Divine.” 

On a spiritual, soulful level, Bucky knows that this is just a pit stop on the way to his enlightenment. 

But as a human being? A living, breathing human with a giant crush and an ego the size of Manhattan? 

As a human being, Bucky is _pissed._

When Maria walks in to check the small room for her noon class, Bucky practically gets on hands and knees to beg her to sub for him, making up some bullshit story about Sarge needing to get taken to the vet. It takes a little bit of wheedling but he manages to get her to acquiesce. He’s out the door within minutes.

When he gets back home, even Sarge is looking at him with a judgmental eye until Bucky collapses on the sofa and rubs his suspiciously stinging eyes with the heels of his hands. Then, Sarge wanders over and nudges Bucky’s leg until Bucky lets his hand drift over the Shepherd’s fur. “What the fuck am I gonna do, buddy?” he hums, blowing a raspberry in frustration. Sarge cocks his head. “I know. You’re a dog. You can’t talk.” He says it like an accusation, like he expects Sarge will get offended. The dog just gives him that dopey look that made Bucky take him home in the first place. He lets out a long breath, then kisses the top of Sarge’s head. 

Falling in love with Steve wasn’t the plan. 

Or maybe it had been the plan all along. Ever since the first day he walked in to teach that class for Maria and saw that oversized Greek god of a man, looking so out of place but desperate to learn and fit in. Then he'd gotten to know him and that's when everything went from a kind of technicolor to blazing, brilliant HD. They’ve barely touched, but when they have, it’s practically singed Bucky’s skin. When he removed that piece of K tape from Steve’s face he saw the barest sprinkling of freckles along the underside of the blond’s jaw. _Fairy footprints_ , he’s heard them called. He wanted to count the number of freckles on his neck, chest, legs, and back with his tongue. And to make things worse - or better depending on how you looked at it - Steve’s just a decent, good man. 

I love him, don't I buddy?” he whispers to Sarge. Sarge noses at his face as if he understands. "Yeah, I might." It's only been about two months. But there's something about this guy that he can't quite describe. He's never felt this way about anybody. Not even Brock. 

His phone goes off about an hour later when he's halfway through the last episode of the Isak and Even arc on  _Skam._

_STEVE: Where did you run off to? Everything ok?_

He ignores it. It’s petty, but he can’t help it.

His phone buzzes again, this time from Nat. 

_TASHA: Steve's texting me asking me where you went. I swear to god, James Buchanan Barnes, if you fuck this up over some random hookup I will hack into your computer and make it look like you were the one who sold out the DNC to Vladimir Putin._

Bucky blindly grabs the phone, his hands shaking. He normally doesn’t blow up like this - yoga's been really good at taking care of the hair-trigger temper that's plagued him since grade school - but sometimes the yoga doesn’t work. Sometimes nothing works. Sometimes the only thing that works is unscrewing the valve and letting the steam come out. 

_He’s not mine to fuck anything up over! He doesn’t want to be with me, he's made it perfectly clear. Jesus Christ, Nat, can’t you keep your fucking mouth shut for once?! It’s bad enough I’m in love with the guy, do you have to make it even worse by telling me you saw him fucking Lang in his office?!_

There’s a long, interminable pause. Bucky takes the wait to feed Sarge and open up an email from Pierce. A self-congratulatory missive about the proposal for a book of poems inspired by Rumi and the Upanishads

When his phone buzzes he barely glimpses at it, but then he gets the alert through his iChat. 

_STEVE: ….Somehow, I doubt that message was for me._

Bucky’s heart drops into the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW I'M SO MEAN BUT I SWEAR THIS STORY HAS A HAPPY ENDING, THESE GUYS JUST WANT TO TORTURE ME.
> 
> Come wail about Stucky, and Philkas, and Isak + Even on my [tumblr!](http://marciellaniello.tumblr.com)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's a lot of texting, a photoshoot, and some half-revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, this chapter was such a bitch. It went through about five different permutations before I settled on this. But I think it went okay. I don't know.
> 
> Also you might want to listen to "5 fine frøkner" before reading so you get how goddamn awesome the song is and how hard Bucky's dancing. [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LyeSIOFHwf8). If you don't watch Skam, get on it. I've been literally listening to this song for the past four days. It's so goooooooood.

 

There are several ways one can deal with accidentally telling your object of affection that you’re in love with them.

Bucky chooses the “run into bedroom, roll up into blanket burrito, scream into the void for an hour” option. 

He can’t believe this. His heart is going a mile a minute. Any thoughts of yogic, cooling breaths are out the window. This is a four alarm emergency unlike anything he’s ever felt before. Not since college, when he got outed by his roommate catching him in the midst of a blowjob in the bathroom of a frat, has he felt this level of total and utter panic. 

When he finally lifts his head up out of the fuzzy haze of blankets and madness, Sarge is looking at him like he’s fucking crazy and his phone is blowing up with text messages from Nat. 

_TASHA: omg. OMG. Bucky can you explain the text message I just got from Steve?_

_TASHA: BUCKY DID YOU TELL HIM YOU HEARD ABOUT LANG?!_

_TASHA: I SWEAR TO GOD I’M GOING TO TURN YOU INTO A HUMAN PRETZEL AND DUNK YOU IN A FRY VAT_

_TASHA: YOU BETTER FUCKING TALK TO HIM_

_TASHA: BUCKY_

_TASHA: I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE_

His phone goes off again. Now it’s Clint. 

_CLINT: …Dude, I don’t know what you did, but Nat looked at her phone and immediately started yelling and punching me. Why are you making my wife hit me, James? Why?_

Another one. From Sharon. 

_SHARON: WOOF. Tough one, buddy._

He pulls all of them into a group chat.

_Are you all fucking hanging out without me?!_

_TASHA: Yes, we’re at Coulson Coffee. And you are not allowed to hang out with us until you talk to Steve._

_Tasha, seriously? Coulson Coffee makes the best lattes in the borough! How could you go without me?_

_TASHA: YOU ARE RUNNING AWAY FROM THE ISSUE._

_CLINT: I have BRUISES, BUCKY._

_SHARON: Has he talked to you at all about what happened?_

_…No. Hasn’t sent me any more text messages. I think he’s embarrassed. Or mad._

_SHARON: Probably the former, if I know Steve. He sounded pretty horrified in the text he sent to Nat._

_Oh fuck AAAAAAAUUUUUGH_

_SHARON: Not about you! About what he did. Lang was just a random hookup._

Oddly enough, that does make Bucky feel a little bit better. But he still has a strong sense of mortification.

_How do I walk this back? I was just getting him convinced that being friends was something that I wanted._

_CLINT: But if it isn’t what you want, you need to tell him that. In person. Not by accident. You’re always telling us to be more open and honest and to go at everything with your heart and mind open._

_Don’t throw my meditations in my face right now!_

_CLINT: But you know I’m right, buddy. You gotta talk to him._

_TASHA: Or I swear to god, I will go full KGB on your ass._

_Nat, the KGB disbanded when you were what, five?_

_TASHA: YOU DON’T KNOW MY WAYS._

_I’m coming over tomorrow, is that okay?_

_TASHA: Always._

_CLINT: I’ll have beer._

_*_

“You didn’t talk to him, did you.”

Bucky lets his head crash down into the couch. He can feel it judging him, as well as Nat, who clicks her teeth and tucks her legs up underneath her. “Why not? It’s been two days, Bucky. He’s been blowing up my phone asking why you’re not talking to him.” 

“God, he’s such an idiot. Such a hot, funny, wonderful idiot,” Bucky moans. “I accidentally told the guy I love him when I don’t know if I _love_ him, but I told him anyway, and I’m all mad at him for fucking around with Lang in the office when I shouldn’t be, I shouldn’t be mad at someone I don’t _have_ , and he doesn’t _want me_ –“

“Oh my God, shut upppppp,” Nat trills. Clint comes out of the kitchen with a beer and some homemade pizza. Bucky looks at the slice of pepperoni longingly before picking at his homemade salad; the photoshoot for the calendar had to get moved up a couple of weeks due to the photographer’s busy June schedule, and the only time Bucky could get his shoot scheduled was the next day, so he’s living on rabbit food for the next twenty-four hours in order to get some more definition on some of his muscles. Nat and Clint watch him with amused faces as he tries to mix together the kale and balsamic vinegar. 

“Man, after this photoshoot, you just come over here and I’ll make you some pasta,” Clint grins. Bucky lets out an orgasmic groan. “Pleeeeease.” 

“Okay, we’re not focusing up here.” Nat takes a sip of her IPA. “Has he made any contact with you?” 

“Just once. Yesterday.” _I have to talk to you._ Bucky saw it when he was out for his morning run. 

“And what did you do?”

“I hid in a Port-a-Potty.” 

Nat bursts out laughing. “Oh my God, you’re thirty years old, not twelve!” 

“Well, this is really out of my wheelhouse, Nat!” Bucky’s not angry, just frustrated and heartsick. “I like him so much and I didn’t want to rush into anything because I know he’s still dealing with what happened with Peggy and Angie, and I get that, I do, but I just got sick of waiting around for him to be ready and…” He lets his voice trail off. Nat and Clint watch him. 

“I did text you to ask if it was weird if I asked Lang out.”

“Yeah, and had this whole thing with Steve not happened, I would have told you to go for it. Steve fucking around with Lang just means he’s not ready for anything serious.”

“Which is funny because I didn’t want anything serious at first, either,” Bucky says darkly. “Then I had to go and find out about how Steve’s possibly the world’s most perfect human.”

“You know he really likes you too. That’s why he fucked this other dude,” Clint says suddenly. Bucky and Nat both look at him. “No, hear me out. Girls and guys do this. They really like someone, but they’re trying to figure out their own shit so they try to be casual, but they’re probably all pent up and horny because they want to be with the person they can’t be with just yet. So they go out and have some casual sex with some side piece because they just need to…you know…release the tension.”

“You know a lot about this subject,” Nat says, face scrunching up in distaste. Clint shrugs. “I was a single guy in my early 20s. I made a lot of mistakes. But I’m pretty sure they were all worth it.” 

“Oh Jesus, I’m gonna barf,” whines Bucky. But in truth, he’s really jealous of Nat and Clint. They’ve been together for seven years, married for three, talking about having kids. They get along like a house on fire, clearly still crazy about each other. Bucky wants that. Thinks he could have that with someone like Steve. 

“Has Steve talked to either of you?” he asks. Nat shrugs. “A little bit, but not since that first flurry. I think he thinks you hate him now or you’re too embarrassed to talk about it with him anymore.” 

“Well, that’s partially true. But I don’t hate him. I couldn’t.” Bucky feels his heart grow a little softer. “I miss him.” Which is _insane_ considering it’s only been a day. But Bucky and Steve have gotten into a really nice pattern of texting each other randomly throughout the day with funny little jokes or well-wishes for various projects. Without that, Bucky feels a little off kilter. 

“Then talk to him. Use your words.” Clint smirks, that bastard. 

“Don’t throw that in my face, you asshole,” Bucky laughs, and reaches for a beer before remembering tomorrow’s shoot and makes a sound of discontent deep in his throat. “Remind me why I’m doing this,” he says.

“Because the money is going towards helping the people in Aleppo,” Nat reminds him helpfully. “And because a lot of people are going to want a photoshoot of James Barnes without a shirt on.”

 

*

 

“It’s gonna be a little bit more than just without a shirt.” Peter Parker looks almost apologetic. The photographer behind PhotoWeb, one of the fastest rising digital album platforms in the country, looks barely out of his teens despite Bucky’s knowledge that the guy is in his mid-20s. His lean frame is swathed in casual layers, despite the heat in the photography studio. “I get cold easily,” he says breezily to a bemused Bucky, who’s already shed his tshirt. 

“Whatever you want. Doesn’t matter to me. I did a bunch of ads for Toesox a few years ago, they had me in nothing but yoga grip socks. It was fun, if a little awkward when my mom saw the photos.” 

“Well, I think we can keep your underwear on,” Peter says. “It’s a charity calendar, not a porn shoot. Although judging by what Tony wants to do for some of these photos, I’m going to have to have a chat with him about the parameters of the project.”

Bucky chuckles and heads to the studio space, where someone has kindly unrolled his Manduka mat. It cost him 90 bucks _with_ the discount, but he’s had it for nearly four years and it’s just as durable as the day he got it.

 He does a couple of poses with his jeans still on, just in case Tony doesn’t want anything too racy (although the thought makes him laugh, since Tony is a class-A sex fiend no matter what gender). 

The poses are simple, just to warm up for the day. He's going to have to hold some of these for a while so he doesn't want to burn through his energy too soon.  

After a couple test shots, Peter grins. "These look great. You're very photogenic, James."

"I know," Bucky responds. It's kneejerk, but it’s true – it’s more than half the reason he's shot to prominence in the fitness world. Sadly, the yoga community likes to put pretty people at the focus of their campaigns. It's changing little by little with the body-positive movement, but Bucky would be an idiot if he didn't capitalize on his looks to break into the industry. The rest of it is just due to hard work. Plus, all of the training for the half-marathon and the yoga training (plus all the Crossfit he’s been doing as an excuse to be with Steve) has made him go from “ripped” to “ridiculous,” and he knows that he might as well get this documented before he lets it all go to hell when he’s older.

He loses the jeans about half an hour in in (thankfully, because doing some of the more difficult poses would be hard to hold in denim) and Peter whistles at his scar, painting down the middle of his knee like an oblong drip of hot glue. "What happened there, if you're comfortable with me asking?"

"Tore my MCL and ACL when I was twenty.” He’d just gotten promoted to soloist. One damn wrong move during a rehearsal and Bucky’d crumpled to the floor. He can do everything he could before, but he never got his leap back.

There had been grief, of course. But he believes that everything happens in its time. Getting hurt was how he found yoga, after all. And, if he hadn’t hurt his knee when he did, he wouldn’t have been in PT at the same time as a redheaded feisty Russian with a torn labrum. Without that knee injury, who knows if Natasha Romanov would have come into his life?

“We should take a few shots with that scar in the center of it.”

“You want me to pose like Demi Moore in _Striptease_?” Bucky cracks, folding his legs cross-legged and throwing a suggestive look to the camera. Peter laughs, but clicks away. 

They try to do the difficult poses as fast as possible, but it still does number on Bucky’s muscles; by the end of the shoot he’s drenched and shaking from the exertion. But Peter wants a couple of fun shots for the outtakes. “Do you have anything you want to put on my iPod?” he asks. 

“This is going to be so douchy of me, but there’s a song by this Norwegian singer that I’m currently _obsessed_ with,” Bucky admits. He’s been watching _Skam_ too much. He can’t help it. Isak and Even are the cutest. Peter doesn’t question it his taste, though, and soon, “5 fine frøkner” is blasting through the studio. Bucky may not be a ballet dancer anymore, but he knows how to move when there’s a good beat, and soon he’s moving around like Britney Spears in her heyday. He’s great in front of a camera and he knows how to work the room, even if the audience is just Peter and one page who looks like he’d rather be doing literally _anything_ else than watch a yoga teacher get down to Norwegian electro-pop.

Because he knows Tony’s going to go after him relentlessly for the shots not being “sexy” enough (“give the people what they want, Buck,” he’d wheedled during their last phone call on the subject), Bucky finds himself moving the band of his underwear down just a little bit.

“That’s good,” Peter says, clicking. “Looks like those Nick Jonas shots from a few years back.” 

“Well, I was going for more of the Marky Mark aesthetic,” Bucky grumbles, but he can take a compliment when he hears one.

He’s having such a good time he almost fails to see Steve at the door.

 Almost. 

Steve is sidled up in the doorframe, not quite in the room but definitely not out in the hallway. He’s got a look on his face that’s inscrutable in the dark of the studio; Bucky can’t tell if he’s happy, or angry, or really much of anything. But he seems to be completely frozen. Like nothing else in the entire world matters but watching Bucky move.

All of the questions that Bucky would normally have in these kinds of moments – mainly _what the fuck is he doing here_ and _oh my god oh my god I’m gonna throw up_ – flutter around the corridors of his brain for a moment, but then Bucky realizes Steve hasn’t realized he’s watching him.

So his center of gravity takes over. 

He dances. He poses. He sweats. He pushes his underwear down a little bit more so it’s a little less Marky Mark and a little more Tayte Hanson.

He acts like Steve isn’t even there.

_Du får meg til å kjøre meg opp_

_Det e ingenting som kan kjøre meg ned_

_Du får alt til å sprenge i kok_

_D e ingen andre eg heller gjør det her med_

_You make me fired up_

_There's nothing that can cool me down_

_You make everything go up in smoke_

_There's no one else I'd rather do this with_

When he’s done, in a sweaty pile on the floor of the studio, body wrung out like a dish towel, he finally looks up. 

Steve’s gone. 

A fireball of shame burrows into Bucky’s heart. 

As he zips up his jeans he can vaguely hear Peter say something about how Tony’s gonna love the shots, but none of it really matters right now to Bucky. What matters is that he feels like he just gave the performance of his life to an audience that didn’t want anything to do with it. 

Bucky doesn’t cry very often, but he finds himself wiping away a stray tear along with the sweat that’s pouring down his face. He manages to smile as Peter chatters away about sending the photos out to his lab that night to get them printed up. “If you could send in the next guy, he should be around here somewhere. Steve Rogers, I think?” 

_God dammit._

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky says before he can stop himself, and pokes his head out the door. Nothing.

 

* * *

 

Steve’s always early to everything. It’s a blessing and a curse. His mom jokes that it’s because he wants to get things done so quick. It’s why he was an early baby – he was supposed to arrive on July 7th but Sarah’s water broke on the 4th, the setup for years of gentle teasing by all of his friends. It’s why everyone in his unit in the Middle East called him Captain America. That, and his near suicidal need to help people. 

Right now, that need to help has been subsumed by his need for Bucky. 

He walks past the doorway of the studio and hears the thump-thump of club music. He lets out a soft laugh. Apparently whoever’s getting shot before him was way more used to this type of photography. Steve’s not really great at getting his photo taken. Sure, he’s got a good face and he’s worked seriously hard for the body he’s got, but he always feels like he transforms back into that skinny little punk again, all arms and legs and zero idea of how to act in front of a lens. He’s got school photos that sent Sam into hysterics. 

He decides to take a peek into the room to see what exactly he should prepare himself for, but Steve is in no way prepared for what he sees.

 Bucky is moving around the studio like a panther, using every single piece of the set to his advantage. He is muscle and sinew and sweat. His hair is coming out of his hair elastic, and when he pulls it free and shakes it loose, Steve feels it in the base of his spine. At one point Bucky closes his eyes and moves to the music like it’s in his bones; Steve has to stifle a moan.

Any type of feeling he had for Lang is immediately chased out of his brain by the sight of Bucky fucking Barnes, in briefs (in _briefs, God in Heaven_ ), dancing like he’s getting paid. 

And isn’t _that_ a thought that doesn’t at all make Steve wish he had worn pants made out of a fabric that wouldn’t exacerbate a hardon. 

He wants to see Bucky dance like that more often. He knew Bucky was at one point a professional in a ballet company, but that makes him think of Swan Lake and tutus. This kind of dancing makes him think of dark clubs and tight clothes and pressing Bucky Barnes up against a wall. Of sweat and tongues and deep touch under a strobe light. Of blowjobs in the bathroom. Of getting fucked where anybody could walk in. 

He lasts just long enough to see Bucky flip over into what he now knows is called wheel pose, pelvis tilting up to the sky, abs flexing in tensile strength, all of that lean body on full display, and he can’t physically take it anymore. Steve backs away from the door and finds the nearest bathroom to lock himself in and will his cock to fucking _behave._ He’s not gonna beat off before this shoot. 

He ends up calling Nat, because he needs someone who can talk him off a ledge (no way is he calling his mom, yeah they have a close relationship but she doesn’t need to know about _every_ boner he’s ever had). He puts her on speaker so he can splash cold water on his face. 

He manages to explain a little bit of what happened, and when he’s done, Nat’s quiet for a second before she responds. 

“When are you going to pull your head out of your ridiculous, pert ass and admit you’re head over heels for him, Steven Grant Rogers?”

Steve’s stomach drops, out of terror and because he knows Nat’s right. 

_When he got that text message obviously meant for Nat, Steve felt his heart slam against his ribcage. He knew Bucky liked him. It was practically pouring out of him every time they hung out. But loved him?_

_The thought both thrilled Steve and injected him with hot panic._

_Steve hadn’t ever really loved another guy before. Sure, he’s had sex with them – loves sex with men, whether it’s topping or bottoming. But his serious relationships have only been with women. He met Peggy when they were 24, and before that, he had dated Sharon for a little while in college before she decided to transfer to another school. When he was younger, skinny and eternally short of breath, he wasn’t really looking for anyone and assumed no one would be looking for him._

_This inability to see the obvious is why he decided to ask Lang out after one of the only classes he’s taken at Star Yoga not taught by Bucky. Lang was funny, smart-alecky, and good looking, and if Steve squinted the right way, he could pass for Bucky without any of the scary, earth-rattling, could this be love feelings Steve associated with Bucky._

_He hadn’t even noticed Nat walking into the office and quickly exiting; he was busy pushing Lang up against the wall (careful not to disrupt any of Sam’s careful markups on the official Shield calendar) and shoving a hand down his pants. They never really talked during these frantic, stupid hookups. Talking ruined the visual, ruined the fantasy. Steve could close his eyes and imagine it was Bucky’s tongue on his neck, Bucky’s cock in his fist, without the scary heart-swooping stuff that happened whenever Steve was around the other man._

_When he walked out of the office shortly after Lang used the back door to make his escape, Nat was watching him with a look not unlike the one the Septa gave Cersei during the Walk of Atonement on Game of Thrones._

_“Hey,” he said, sheepishly._

_“You’re a fucking idiot,” Nat said back._

_“Don’t tell Bucky,” Steve pleaded. “I really fucked this up, didn’t I?” he then asked, softly._

_“Well, do you want honesty or do you want to feel better?”_

_“I’m not gonna get both, am I?”_

_“Nope.”_

_“Ugh.”_

So now he leans his head against the bathroom stall, breathes deep the way Bucky taught him. Grounding. An anchor. “I’m a mess, Nat. I’m not good enough for that. You should’ve seen the way he was moving. I mean, I know you’ve seen him dance, but…Nat.” He’s never wanted anyone like this. Not even Peggy, if he really digs down deep. 

He can tell from Nat’s silence that she’s just waiting for him to keep going. So he does. “He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. But he deserves someone who’s not gonna hurt him. And I hurt him." 

“Talk to him, then. Use your words. My god, you two are the most childish thirty year olds I’ve ever met in my life, and I’m married to _Clint Barton_ ,” Nat quips. 

“HEY!” Clint’s voice shouts from somewhere far away. 

“YOU KNOW I’M RIGHT!” Nat yells. Steve chokes back a laugh. “I know I have to talk to him. I just don’t want to fuck this up. I’m such a mess, Nat, and he’s just so…he’s so _incredible_ , and I’m not good enough for him,” he knows he’s rambling but he can’t help it, now he’s all amped up, “And he deserves someone _whole_ , he deserves someone who can love him the way he should be loved –“ 

“Don’t you fucking tell me what I deserve.” 

Steve nearly breaks the faucet in shock. Heart hammering away in his chest in a way it hasn’t since he was a kid, he turns around to see Bucky’s lean frame bracketing the doorway. His face is incredulous, but at the same time, almost relieved. “You think you know what I want?” he says softly, but with an edge that tightens Steve’s guts.

“How much did you hear?” he asks helplessly.

“I heard enough,” Bucky responds. He’s standing at an angle that makes his hips jut out to the left. He’s still shirtless, and soaked through with sweat from his exertions. One bead of moisture is working a pathway down the ridges of his abdomen. He looks like he’s _wrecked._

“Nat, I have to call you back.”

After Steve stuffs the phone back into his pocket Bucky folds his arms over his chest. “You say you know what I want. But I think you know what I want. Tell me what _you_ want, Steve.”

“I…” Steve’s so close now, so close he can see the crinkles dancing around Bucky’s storm-blue eyes. His body is so near his mouth could just ghost over Steve’s. A icy grip is still on his heart.

“Tell me. You have to tell me, Stevie.” Bucky’s voice sounds low in his throat, like it’s coming from deep in his soul. It goes right to Steve’s dick. That and _Stevie_ , where the hell did _that_ come from?

“I…” Steve furiously tries to think of words to say that would be helpful. They’re all there, on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t want to do it. Not yet, anyway. 

So he does what he normally does in this situation.

He closes the gap between them, captures Bucky's mouth with his.

 _Holy god_. There should be a monument in DC to Bucky Barnes’s mouth. His lips are full and just the perfect amount of wet, and they take a moment to adjust to the shock of Steve’s kiss before they’re responding in full. Steve’s hands come up to frame Bucky’s face, carding back his hair as the kiss gets deeper, more fervent. He inches closer so that Bucky’s entire body is pressed up against the wall and he can feel every inch of that glorious midsection. Bucky is hard and unyielding through his jeans and he grinds up against Steve’s cock with a relentless drive that ensures Steve won’t last very long if they keep at it.

Then, as quickly as it began, it stops. The door suddenly opens behind Bucky; Steve looks down and sees Bucky’s hand on the knob. He looks up, stunned. Bucky’s eyes, once hooded and lusty, are now impossibly sad. 

“If you can’t tell me what you want, in person, without me overhearing it on the phone, or without trying to interrupt me by making it physical, I need to walk away until you can. Because I want _you_ , Steve Rogers.” Bucky’s voice trembles a little bit but it’s confident enough that Steve can only stare in awe at how fucking _brave_ this man is. “I want you, and I think, if we tried, I could even be in love with you. But I can’t be with someone who’s too scared to even talk to me about what they need and what they want. So I gotta walk away from this. I gotta take care of myself. And when you figure yourself out…please call _me_ , not Nat.” 

Then, as quickly as he came in, Bucky’s gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ENTIRE story is because I saw this [NSFW photo manip](http://marciellaniello.tumblr.com/post/154225904543/i-cannot-find-the-person-responsible-for-this) of underwear model, tattooed Bucky Barnes on Tumblr and I cannot for the life of me find out who did it, so if you know the artist behind this edit, please let me know! (Although my Bucky in my fic has only one tattoo sleeve on his left arm.)
> 
> Also, I know Steve is being a massive tool bag. But I think there aren't enough fics out there that explore how much STEVE can be fucked UP and emotionally broken. I SWEAR THIS ENDS HAPPILY.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve gets called out on his bullshit, and tries to make it up to Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to bang out one more chapter before this weekend because I'll be crazy busy with Christmas and family stuff! So...two chapters in one day! I'll be back next week. Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays! Have some angst!
> 
> There might be some triggers in here for some people, so if you want to skip that, go to the notes at the end of the piece.

Steve spends the next several days at his mom’s apartment, not talking much. This worries Sarah, but Steve can’t say anything about what happened just yet. 

He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this embarrassed in his entire life. There’s stuff coming up from his gut, unprocessed and thick, guilt and fear and trauma that he’s buried for so many years. 

He stares out the window at the late April morning and tries not to think about the sadness in Bucky’s eyes. 

Finally, after day four, his mom opens the door, sits on the edge of his bed. “You weren’t even this crushed after you broke up with Peggy.” Her voice isn’t accusatory. It isn’t even babying. It’s just empathetic. It’s a bedside tone she employs with Steve whenever he’s feeling low. 

A dam breaks deep in Steve’s heart. “I love him, Ma.” He crosses his big arms in front to pull his legs up to his chest, buries his face in the space between his knees. “I love him so much, and I did something so…so stupid.”

When he tells Sarah what happened, his mother doesn’t judge him with words. She just looks at him in a way that says everything words can’t. 

“You need to talk to Doctor Quinn again,” she says, very gently.

And normally, Steve hates it when his mother is this correct. But this time, he nods.

Doctor Fury isn’t your average psychotherapist. He’s cranky, for one. But he’s funny, engaging, and unafraid to call Steve out on his bullshit. He came to see Fury when his father died, right after college, but after the breakup with Peggy he dropped it. He knows that was a crucial mistake, but he’s human.

Fury reminds him of this fact after Steve relays to him the details. “Why didn’t you talk to him about how you felt, and how you wanted to keep things perhaps a little bit more casual?”

“I don’t know.” 

“I’m going to need you to do better than ‘I don’t know,’ Rogers,” Fury says, sternly but with a flash of warmth behind it. 

“I guess I was scared?” 

“Scared of what?”

“Of getting hurt, I guess?” Now Steve’s just getting mad. 

“So you decided to hurt him first? Is this a way of getting back at Peggy, subconsciously?”

Steve can _feel_ the color leaving his face. “Jesus Christ. I’m a fucking toolbag. I’m literally the worst human being on the planet." His knees shake with the urgency to keep everything in but his voice keeps spilling it out. "I’m abject garbage. I can’t draw anything right now to save my life, the one person I can rely on in my life is my fucking _Mom_ , and I just managed to push away someone that I’m pretty sure could be The One, and now I’m a complete mess of a human who just happens to have nice biceps, and I don’t even know what I’m doing or why I even deserve anything good in my life if they’re just going to get hurt or leave or-” He stops suddenly. “Fuck. That’s it, isn’t it.” 

“Thank God, I was prepared to listen to you bullshit for another twenty minutes. You got there earlier than I thought,” says Fury blithely. He hands Steve a box of Kleenex. Steve didn’t even know he’s crying.

*

Over the next few weeks, Steve goes to Fury every single Friday. He starts to work on a new story for Phil. Before any of that, he breaks it off with Lang, who’s pretty fine with it. “I might be getting back together with my ex, Janet.” He tapers for the Brooklyn Half Marathon with Sharon.

He misses Bucky.

Fury suggests he see a psychiatrist and puts him in touch with a wonderful woman named Gamora who diagnoses him with chronic depression and social anxiety, and recommends he start a low dose of SSRIs. He tells her he’ll think about it.

Two weeks later he calls her and says he’ll do it. 

He misses Bucky. 

He sees Nat and Sharon and Clint a lot, and even finally gets to meet Maria, who’s bright and funny. He starts to open up to them all a lot more.

He does yoga at home, and Nat recommends a meditation app for him to download. One of the first ones he does is led by a woman named Seane with long, crazy hair, who says, “There are going to be people who expose the places within yourself where you are disconnected and cut off from yourself. Look at them as blessings.” He reads the vedas. He reads the _Bhagavad Gita._ Something clicks.

It takes another three weeks for the medication to kick in. He breathes easy for the first time in a long, long time. The knot in his stomach gets looser by the day. 

He misses Bucky so much it physically hurts. 

It’s only then, two months after that horrible situation in the bathroom with Bucky, that Steve picks up his phone and makes a call he should have made a very long time ago. 

“It’s really, really good to hear from you, Steve.” 

“Hi, Peggy.” 

They end up meeting in Prospect Park, with bagged lunches. They talk about their lives, both apart and together. They laugh over some memories, cry over others. 

“You hurt me so much, Pegs,” he finally says around a mouthful of emotion. “I know you didn’t mean to. But you did. And it just felt like…you didn’t care about me.”

“I know.” Peggy looks at him with remorse in the set of her jaw. “I cannot even begin to tell you how sorry I am.”

“I know. And I’m sorry too. I’m sorry I made you think at any point that you weren’t worthy of being loved like Angie loves you. She loves you so much. I know that. And you can love her back.”

“I can. And I do.” Peggy gives a watery smile. “And I think you could have something really special with that guy I saw at the party.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I can’t really think about that now. I have to take care of myself.”

Peggy does something unexpected. She laughs. “Why, Steven Grant Rogers, it took you long enough.”

“What?” 

“You’re always looking after everyone else and destroying yourself in the process. You’ve earned the right to be a little selfish with how you spend your time. You need it.” Voice growing serious again, smooth British tones inflected with crashing cliffs of Dover. “But when you get yourself sorted, you should give him a call. Or email. Or something.”

“Actually, I was thinking about something a little more creative.”

Heart crashing loudly, Steve leaves Peggy at her apartment building and digs his buzzing phone out of his pocket. “Nat, I was just about to call you. I had an idea.”

“No time,” Nat says. Steve stops dead on the sidewalk. Nat is a tough cookie. She’s never sounded like this before.

“It’s Bucky, isn’t it?” he whispers.

Silence.

“He was out for a training run early this morning in Central Park and got jumped by a couple of skinheads. They saw his Bernie pin on his running jacket and just went at him. He managed to get in a bunch of kicks and punches but his knee…” Nat swallows. “They’re saying he might have torn it again. They have to get in there and do an MRI before they know for sure. 

“Wait, how could have torn his ACL and MCL again?”

“He might have kicked two of the skinheads in the face and balls.” 

Steve chuffs out a broken laugh. “Where is he?” 

“He’s at St. Margaret’s up by Columbus Circle. But I wouldn’t go over there if I were you. He looks really bad and he’s super out of it because of the pain medication. They’re saying he’s banged up but he should walk out of here in a few days if the knee turns out to be just a sprain. I just figured you should know.”

“No, thank you for telling me,” Steve says quickly, the words rushing around like blood in his brain. He’s got a plan anyway.

 

* * *

 

Bucky doesn’t really want to wake up from his nap, but the pain in his knee sort of punches him awake. 

“Fuuuuuuuuck,” he yowls. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have kicked the second guy in the balls with that bum leg, huh?” Nat says dryly from acros the room.

“I maintain he kicked himself in the balls,” Bucky croaks.

“I can tell you’re going to be okay when you start quoting _Ten Things I Hate About You_ ,” Nat responds with a bright smile. “Your sister and parents are downstairs getting food. While you were out they got the results back from your MRI."

“And?”

"A sprain. A very bad sprain, but no surgery necessary. You probably won’t be able to run the Brooklyn Half, though."

 “Oh, damn,” Bucky says, sarcastically. He looks down at himself. “I did pretty well, eh? Just a big-ass scratch on my left arm. And a knee shot to shit.”

Nat just looks at him. Then, she gets up. Puts his phone on his lap. “You should open your email.” 

Then she’s gone. 

Bucky isn’t sure if it’s the morphine wearing off or what, but he’s pretty sure he’s never been this confused. He goes into his email, and his heart monitor starts to pick up steam when he sees Steve’s name pop up.

_Hi Bucky._

_Nat told me about what happened. I’m so sorry you got jumped. I hope you kicked their asses to hell and back. If I ever find out who they are, I’m going to make sure their balls hang from an MTA counter for all eternity._

_I really, really hope your knee isn’t too bad. I know you had to lose dancing. I couldn’t even imagine if you had to lose yoga on top of that. You’re such an incredible teacher, with the biggest heart and soul of anyone I’ve ever met in my life. And you’re so strong. Not just physically, but what you’ve had to endure losing ballet and then still being so positive and sweet on top of that loss. You’re stronger than I am._

_I’m so sorry, Bucky. I treated you like shit. I walked all over your heart and then some. I was so afraid of how I felt about you, and that day in the box when you touched my face, I…I wanted to kiss you. Hell, I wanted to pull you into my arms and make love to you right there on the box floor. I don’t think I’ve wanted anything more than I wanted you in that moment. At least, I thought that until I got to watch you in the photo shoot. Yeah, I watched you for a little bit. You were – you are – the most beautiful, inspiring thing I’ve ever seen. I could watch you dance forever and never get bored. Hell, I could watch you read a book, eat a sandwich, make a phone call._

_I think I just got creepy for a second. Moving on._

_I have no excuses or reasons for what happened with Lang. I wish I could take it back. I know I can’t._

_I don’t expect you to forgive me. It’s taken a long time for me to accept who I am, let alone forgive myself for what I’ve done to you and the people around me for so long. I’m impulsive, and compulsive, and I make absolutely terrible decisions in the name of some kind of twisted inner logic. And in the process, I hurt someone who is so dearly important to me._

_(You, in case you’re hopped up on morphine and can’t figure that out.)_

_Since you last saw me I’ve taken your words to heart. I’ve been seeing my therapist again, and I finally got diagnosed with depression. It was a little scary, but I’m getting treated for it, and things seem to be looking up for the first time in a while. I was pouring my whole mind and heart and soul into Crossfit Shield and I wasn’t really thinking about the things I need, the things that make me happy._

_You’ve made me so happy, Bucky. You’ve made me happier than anybody ever has. I miss you._

_I want to start over. Maybe we can just get together after you get out of the hospital and talk. I didn’t want to visit you because I wasn’t sure how you’d take it. I wanted to give you your space._

_If you don’t want to see me, I totally understand. I hurt you. I hurt you a lot. And I cannot even begin to make it up to you. But I want to try._

_I hope you feel better soon._

_Take care,_

_SGR._

Bucky reads the email about forty times, eyes welling over. The pain in his knee feels like a distant memory. Steve’s words are a balm on him, soothing and clear. 

He almost doesn’t even realize there’s another page to the email.

_PS. svasti prajabhyam paripalayantham_

_nyayeana margena mahim maheesah_

_gobrahmanebhya shubamsthu nityam_

_lokah samastha sukhino bhavanthu._  

Bucky’s mouth drops open. 

The lines Steve quotes are from a particular proverb, or _shloka_ , from the Vedas, a very sacred Sanskrit text. Bucky quotes from it every once and a while when he teaches the more difficult classes on his schedule. It basically means “May the kings rule wisely and justly, may the people be well-governed, may the harvest be plentiful, and may all beings everywhere be happy and free.” The last line tends to get extended to add “May the thoughts and actions of my own life contribute to that happiness and freedom for all.”

There’s no way Steve knows about those vedas unless he did some research on his own. 

Then, underneath the _shloka_ , Steve has scanned in an absolutely breathtaking sketch of the Aum symbol. The universal vibration. The sound Bucky begins and ends every single class with. It’s a call to prayer and a blessing. 

His fingers, still a little weak from the medication, do the dialing independent of his brain. 

Steve picks up on the second ring. “Bucky? Are you okay?” 

Bucky feels that deep, resonant voice way down. It lights him up from the inside out, cleansing and purifying him. Like Shiva’s fire. “I’ve been better. Although I just got an email from a guy and it’s a hum-dinger.” 

Pause. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers.

“You can apologize in person when I get out of here and you take me to coffee,” Bucky replies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gets jumped by a bunch of skinheads in Central Park. He manages to beat them up and get away but his knee gets really fucked up as a result of the attack, and the doctors worry at first that he blew out his MCL/ACL again. It turns out to be just a sprain.
> 
> I wanted to write Steve as messy and fucked up because...I see a lot of myself in Steve. Some of Steve's tendencies (selfless to the point of self-destruction) are VERY close to home for me, and I've made a lot of dumb choices out of fear. Bucky's yoga training is about choosing love over fear, and Steve is starting to make those choices too. I know he's a fucked up mess, but HUMANS ARE FUCKED UP MESSES.
> 
> [Tumblr!](http://marciellaniello.tumblr.com)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Bucky was up to during those two months - getting some tough love from Star Yoga owner Bruce Banner, making some bad hookup decisions, and finally, finally talking to Steve...and setting up a REAL ACTUAL DATE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS you guys! I had some time today so I figured I'd let you all in on the stuff Bucky was doing in the two months Steve spent going to therapy and getting his head back on straight. :)
> 
> There is a VERY brief off-text hookup between Bucky and another character. More spoilers in the end notes.

_A week after the events in Chapter 9._

Yoga teacher training at Star Yoga incorporates a variety of different themes, practices, and modalities. Current Star Yoga owner Bruce Banner doesn’t really care to follow one specific lineage; he prefers to see what each class needs and goes from there. This year it’s much more Ashtanga based, so Bucky’s been helping out during the training sessions. It’s also a good warmup for when Bucky will take over the studio next year so Bruce can open a new studio in LA.

They’ve just finished a run of the Primary series, a set series of postures that increase in difficulty and strength. The Primary series is what everyone learns when they’re starting out in Ashtanga and it’s perfect for type-A personalities, of which this class is _loaded._  

Once _savasana_ is completed, Bucky brings the class to the front of their mats for the traditional closing prayer, a _shloka_ from the yogic Vedas. They are words so close to Bucky’s heart he has them tattooed in winding script on his left arm. When they hit a certain vibration it can resound in Bucky’s heart. 

“ _Svasthi Praja Bhyaha Pari Pala Yantam_

_Nya Yena Margena Mahim Mahishaha_

_Go Brahmanebhyaha Shubamastu Nityam_

_Lokah Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu_

_Om Shanti Shanti Shantihi”_

Today his words are a little less fervent than normal. His heart is still aching a bit from what happened with Steve. He’s refused to contact him. He’s trying to make this as easy and clean a break as possible.

The ache is still there. 

When he looks up from the prayer he sees Bruce watching him. There isn’t any judgment in his eyes, just a perceptiveness that Bucky knows can cut through anyone’s bullshit. He knows something’s up.

At the end of an emotionally taxing day (yoga teacher training isn’t for the weak), Bucky sits down heavily on his mat, smiling wearily at the trainees as they make their way out the door. He tells Darcy to give him a second before she comes to sweep up. He almost doesn’t notice Bruce’s whisper-soft footsteps.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he says.

“I didn’t say anything,” Bruce responds. He folds himself into lotus in front of Bucky’s mat. He waits.

 With a shrug, Bucky rolls and pops his shoulder. “I assume you’re gonna sit her until I tell you what’s up?”

“You know the deal,” Bruce smiles. He makes a gesture with his hands. “Spill it. I told Darcy to give us more time in here.” 

So Bucky tells him. Tells him about meeting Steve, about the friendship they’ve struck up with limits deeply unsatisfying to Bucky but necessary to maintain said friendship. Tells him about the flirting, _so much flirting_ , about the backstory with Steve and Peggy. Tells him about Lang. Tells him about the photoshoot. Tells him about the kiss. 

Bruce’s face doesn’t change. He’s a yoga master – been practicing for nearly 26 years, been a yoga teacher for 17. He managed to take instruction from Sri K. Pattabi Jois before the modern father of Ashtanga yoga passed away. Bruce is a legend in the yoga community for not only his practice, but for his calm, gentle demeanor in classes and his extreme patience with every type of issue in his students. 

So to anyone else, it would be a little surprising when Bruce looks at him and goes “You’re so full of shit.” 

But Bucky knows Bruce. Knows why he came to yoga, after a childhood filled with temper tantrums, anger issues, and violence. The yoga has mellowed out his harsh edges but sometimes they pop through with his ability to see through Bucky’s every defense. It’s why Bucky loves the guy. And can’t stand him. 

So he needs this. 

“Yes. I know I am. So tell me why I’m full of shit.” Bucky pulls his legs into gomukhansa, cow-face pose, to stretch out his hips. 

Bruce picks at a piece of lint on the floor. “Did you fuck Steve?” 

Bucky can feel his mouth fall open. “What? No! Did you not just hear-“

“Did Steve fuck you?”

“No!”

“Did you at any point talk about whether or not you would like to exclusively fuck each other?”

“ _I knew it!_ ” crows a voice from the hallway.

“God dammit, Bruce,” Bucky hisses, “now I’m gonna have Darcy up my ass about this even more than she already-“

“Answer the question, James.”

Ugh. That tone is the one Bruce uses when he’s dead serious. 

“No. We never talked about it. We only discussed the fact that Steve didn’t want to get into anything right now and I agreed to be just friends. 

“Okay. So let me get this straight. You got pissy because someone you know and like but have promised to not hit on for the sake of letting him have his own space and figure out his shit went out and…tried to have his own space and figure out his own shit?” 

Bucky’s heart wrenches. 

“I’m a terrible person, aren’t I?” he whispers. 

“No, you’re just a person. A person who saw someone they liked and tried to claim them like a cat pissing in a corner.” Bruce takes a long sip of water while Bucky processes this uncomfortable truth. “So you got mad at him for fucking Lang – and let’s face it, Lang will fuck anything that looks at him for longer than three seconds – when you aren’t in a relationship, haven’t even gone out on an official date – and you told him you needed him to think about what he did? Despite not having talked to him yourself about how you feel?” 

Before Bucky can even come up with a decent reply Bruce is on to the next line of questions. “Also, you say you need Steve to talk to you and get his shit figured out. But James, my dear friend…the only reason he found out about how you felt about him, how you truly _feel_ about him, is because he accidentally saw a text message you sent to Nat. You never say any of this to _him_. So really, who’s at fault here? You for not being clear? Or him for taking that lack of clarity and trying to figure out his own shit?”

When Bucky can speak again, he just mutters dumbly, “This is why you’re a great yoga teacher and a really dick friend.”

“I know,” Bruce cheerily tells him, and reaches out a hand to pull Bucky up. “Now let’s go get something to eat. I want Thai.”

 

* * *

 

“I should’ve been more open with him. I just got scared.” 

“Of what? I’ve seen him around the studio. Guy is crazy about you. Either that or he's a creepy stalker who is really good at hiding the fact that he wants to make a purse out of your skin.” 

“Gross. But then why doesn’t he say anything – oh. Right.” 

“Exactly.” 

“I don’t know,” Bucky mumbles, both because he hates how correct Bruce is, and because he's working his way around a mouthful of Massaman curry. “When I first met him I didn’t expect to like him this much. I mean, he’s so hot it’s stupid, but when I met him he was really uncomfortable with the yoga environment so he came off kind of like a bro.” 

“Explain? I’m not hip to your young lingo.” 

“Like…uh. A frat boy? Really hot but not a lot going on upstairs.” 

“Ah. And then he proved you wrong?” Bruce’s face is always equanimous, but his eyes give away what he’s really thinking. Right now they’re flashing _I love you but you’re being ridiculous_ like high beams. Bucky knows he deserves every bit of judgment he’s getting.

“Well, yeah,” Bucky says, feeling his heart pick up a little bit at the thought of that wonderful day of bagels, fried eggs, and learning about the things that made Steve, Steve. He notices Bruce smiling a little bit. “What?” 

“I know you like him. You might even love him, despite how soon it is. But he’s hurting right now. I think your advice to him, about staying away until he figured himself out? It’s very valid. But I think you need to take it as well.” Bruce takes a bite of his tofu. “You can’t own this guy. You can’t call it unfair when you’ve never been able to talk to him about how you’re feeling without some sort of divine intercessor in the shape of a mistaken text. I think you got scared that you started to view what was originally just a hot dude you could probably nail and forget about, as an actual possible partner. And I know you, Buck. I know how much Brock hurt you.” His eyes are still so impossibly kind even when they’re penetrating Bucky’s every excuse. “You have to open your heart more.” 

Bucky runs his hand over his face. “Yeah. I know. You’re right as always.” 

“Of course I am. Plus I could tell you were a ball of worry during the Primary series today. You were flinging yourself all over the place. I was concerned you’d blow your arm out or something.” 

“Yeah. Primary series wasn’t the best move for me today,” Bucky agrees. Ashtanga is a very turbo-charged practice that stokes your internal fires. It didn’t do much to calm Bucky’s worries. But he loves teaching it, and this class really wanted to do it, so he had to comply. 

“I think I need some Hatha classes this week,” he says, considering his cup of half-trained ice coffee. It’s judging him the same way Bruce is.

Although Bruce isn’t really judging him. He’s just revealing the places Bucky is projecting. 

It always seems like the older man can sense what Bucky’s thinking. Bruce sets down his Thai iced coffee and muses, “Seane said in this workshop I went to that if someone in your life needs to ‘go down’ in order to get uplifted, we should pray that they stay there until they figure themselves out and we must love them through the process.” 

“Yeah. I’ve seen that video on Youtube. That’s from Wanderlust a few years back, right?” No, Bucky hasn’t seen every single Seane Corn lecture available online.

“Yes, and I think I’d wish the same for you. You’re always telling your students that things happen for the evolution of the individual’s soul. Seane always says 'Ignore the story and see the soul, and remember to love, you'll never regret it.' You’re one of the best teachers I’ve ever seen, Bucky. You’re kind, you’re empathetic, you’re challenging but you never push students so hard that they get hurt. I wish you’d take your own advice. Trust yourself to accept the gifts that come when you're rigorously honest.” Bruce gives a well-worn smile.

“Why the hell are you leaving NYC, Banner?” Bucky jokingly whines. “LA is the worst.”

“No winter and no smell of hot garbage,” Bruce replies easily. “Now are we done diagnosing your bullshit? I want to talk about some of the sequencing for tomorrow’s training.”

 

* * *

 

_One month later._

“So, that was fun,” the beautiful, lithe man intones smoothly, warm vowels wrapping around his tongue like velvet. He lounges on his bed while Bucky zips up his pants. 

“Yeah, it was great,” he replies, and he means it. He met T’Challa through the studio; he knows Darcy and Clint peripherally, and came to one of Bucky’s 10AM vinyasa classes. Bucky really enjoyed his presence and gorgeous practice, and the face and body didn’t hurt either. They’ve been out a few times, and it was only a matter of time before they fell into bed.

He needed to get his mind off Steve, anyway. And T’Challa was really different. Knew the exact right thing to say at the exact right time. He didn’t dress like he was in a Frank Capra film. And he had the manners and demeanor of a damn prince.

It wasn’t Steve, but it was far enough away that Bucky could forget.

The sex had been pretty good, too. Bucky's more vers, but T'Challa is much more about being a top. Fine by Buck. Plus, if it meant he could fantasize about what it would feel like to get to top Steve, the better.

“So, we gonna do this again?” he throws out, casually as he reaches for his shirt. It's obviously half-hearted; T'Challa's response is equally lukewarm. “Well…”

Bucky’s heart, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, flip-flops a little. “You don’t want to get into anything, huh?”

T’Challa gives a little nod. “Don’t get me wrong. That was _really_ good. But I’m not really on the market for a boyfriend. This was a good time. I’d love to get together for it again. But not so much the whole…ah…” he gestures erratically.

“No, I totally get it!” Bucky says, a little too enthusiastically to cover up for the frustration threatening to bubble out of his chest. “I’ll call you, okay?”

“Sure,” T’Challa says non-commitally, putting his hands back behind his head on the headboard.

Bucky calls Maria as soon as he leaves.

“Remind me to never fuck one of my students again,” he hisses, hitting the button in the elevator so hard he nearly jams his finger. 

“I hope the sex was worth it, though!” Maria trills. 

“Well, of course. I’m not _that_ depressed,” Bucky lets out a short laugh. 

“Why haven’t you called Steve?” Maria asks, her phone crackling. She’s probably headed down to the subway. Bucky steps out into the warm April air. “I wanted to give him time. And myself, if I’m being honest. And he hasn’t called, so I’m assuming he’s not done thinking.”

“I can’t wait until this is all over and you guys get married, and I can make fun of this bullshit for a least ten years,” Maria laughs. “Gotta go, hopping on the A train.”

Bucky hangs up and wonders just what the hell he’s going to do now.

He misses Steve.

* * *

 

_Two weeks after the events at the end of Chapter 10._

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

Bucky looks up from his coffee mug, the swirled leaf pattern refusing to help the words come in a more elegant fashion. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For…I don’t know.” Bucky pinches the space between his brows – the painkillers he’s on are strong, but he can’t tell if he should blame them or his nerves for his lack of finesse with language at the moment. “I was being unfair to you. I didn’t own you. We hadn’t even been out on a date. You didn’t do anything wrong by hooking up with Lang. I was being possessive and weird." 

“Buck. I should’ve been more honest with you. The thing with Lang was just…a random mistake.” Steve’s face does that crinkled-up thing it does when he’s concerned or trying to be all Captain of Decency. It makes Bucky’s stomach hurt.

“I should’ve been too. I was really cagey with you, even though I was flirting my ass off and you clearly didn’t want me to, but you never said anything!”

“I did want that! Well…no, fuck it. I did want that. I wanted it bad,” Steve breathes, and Bucky coughs and adjusts his propped up leg on the side chair they swiped at the Starbucks. He’s almost at one hundred percent, but his knee gets a little bit stiff if it’s bent too long. 

“I got scared,” Steve finally tacks on. “It’s been…well. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like that.”

Well, that’s interesting. Bucky can’t help but lean forward. “Felt like what?” 

Steve flushes, again so easily. Bucky can’t really breathe when that happens, but he forces himself to try. 

“I..” Steve looks around; Bucky can practically see in his face the moment his brain decides _fuck it._ “Like you were the best kind of trouble.”

 _Fuck_ , that shouldn’t be as hot as it is. 

“Well, I could say the same thing about you, mister.” Bucky offers up a tremulous smile to hide the fact that he wants to sweep his arm over the table they’re sitting at, knock all of their coffee and snacks to the floor, and have his way with Steve right there like in _The Postman Always Rings Twice_.

Steve interrupts his increasingly heated flight of fancy with a small, “Can I take you out on a real date?”

Bucky’s heart begins to pound. “Oh my god. Of course! Took you goddamn long enough!”

The smile on Steve’s face could power three NYC blocks.

“But, um.” Bucky grits his teeth. He _has_ say this. “I do have to mention. During the time we weren’t talking…I may have hooked up with someone.”

 Steve’s face falls just a little bit, and Bucky wants to run and hide in the bathroom. But he doesn’t. He faces it. “He was just a random hookup I had. Like what happened with you and Lang. It didn’t really mean anything. I just…you know. It happened.” 

“…Well,” Steve says finally, the smile slowly returning to his face. “If I got mad about that, then I’d be kind of a hypocrite, no?” 

Bucky cackles. “Well, yeah, a little bit.”

“And besides,” Steve says, his grin turning downright lascivious, “I’m positive if I did feel anything, it’d be jealousy.” 

Oh, _that’s_ something.

“Jealousy, huh?” Bucky takes another sip of his latte, lets the foam come up over his top lip. Slowly darts his tongue out to lick it away. “I wouldn’t worry about that. Good things come to those who wait, and all.”

Steve shifts in his seat. Bucky has to internally applaud himself for getting someone so damn hot so sexually riled up. Yeah, it’s a little egotistical, but Bucky’s not an idiot.

“Well, I should be getting cleared for full physical activity tomorrow, so I have to go back to my full teaching schedule at Star. I don’t think I’m covering anybody, so I’m free…hmmmm…Friday?” 

“That sounds fantastic.” Steve lets loose with that megawatt smile again. Bucky feels warmed by it. Like if he stands too close, he'll get burned. 

Or, fly straight to the sun and dance in a lightning storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Bucky has a one-night stand of sorts with T'Challa, and they both agree it's not really going to go anywhere. Bucky tells Steve about it but Steve isn't necessarily bothered by it, joking he'd be a hypocrite if he got mad about Bucky being with someone else.
> 
> [Tumblr!](http://marciellaniello.tumblr.com)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has a bad experience on a subway ride. Then it gets WAY better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some trigger-y stuff perhaps in this chapter, so if you want to skip it, go right to the end notes and I can fill you in.

For Steve Rogers, it had been a damn good day.

He’d done his own workout, taught three classes at Crossfit Shield, then went to a few production design meetings for his first graphic novel inking commission under his own name. Now, best of all, he’s about to go home and get ready for his first official date with Bucky Barnes. 

When he hops on the subway after his last meeting of the day, his head’s already _swimming._ Phil had been very excited about the possibility of working with cult graphic novel author Peter Quill, whose most recent work, _Starlord_ , had been a runaway success. Steve had read it (several times) and marveled at Quill’s ability to convey both sheer ludicrous humor and tremendous empathy, sometimes on the same page. The thought of actually working _with_ Quill and getting to illustrate his fantastic stories was almost too much for Steve to wrap his head around. He’d texted Bucky the good news; Bucky’s reaction, a string of exclamation points and applause emojis, made Steve so distracted he almost banged into the revolving door on his way out of Phil’s office. 

Now, he sits with jittery feet and a heartbeat that stomps out a violent tattoo, brain quickly flooding with possible ideas for what to wear on tonight’s date. Something that conveys _I’m trying hard, but not too hard, but also if we got to make out at the end of this I’d be_ totally _okay with that_. Maybe a button down? Or a henley? That red one is always a huge hit on dates. Or maybe the blue one? 

He’s plotting out the shoes when the subway car he’s on lurches to a full stop. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the driver squawks, “We have to make a fifteen minute stop to address some technical difficulties.” 

“Ugh, someone probably threw trash on the tracks,” the teenage girl across from Steve grumbles before shoving her headphones back in.

Steve lasts about ten minutes before his palms begin to sweat. 

His knees knock together impatiently as the seconds roll by on his phone. He feels like everyone can see how ridiculous he’s getting; they’re probably all judging him for being that weird sweaty guy on the train. He can feel nausea rolling up and down his throat. A look to the door tells him they’re between stops with zero available exits. 

The train car feels like a paper cup in the vastness of space – crushing in on all sides, suffocating everyone in its wake. He tries to remember what Bucky’s told him about breathing. What Fury’s instructed him about how all things will pass, good and bad. That just makes his panic spike harder. 

When the train starts moving again Steve makes it to the next stop – Union Street Square – before bolting out the door and finding the nearest bathroom. 

The vomit forces its way up Steve’s throat and out of his mouth in wet, painful clumps. Steve’s esophagus feels like it’s going to collapse with the force of the post-vomit heaving. When his body stops jerking with the force, he sits back against the bathroom stall door, wiping his sweaty brow, feeling a combination of relief that he’s not vomiting anymore and deep shame that he vomited at all. 

When he first got back from his tour of Afghanistan, Steve was getting panic attacks and puking at least twice a week. It usually stemmed from being in an enclosed space. Fury always tells him that he’s made so much progress but there will be times when things will trigger him, and he just needs to be prepared for that. He usually is. Today feels like a setback, despite what everyone in his life would assure him.

He’s still shaking a little when he washes his hands, pulls out his phone. 

“I was just thinking about you!” Bucky’s crackly voice, so warm Steve can almost put his hands out and feel the calm emanating from it, exclaims. “What time were you thinking for tonight?” 

“Um, yeah, that’s actually why I was calling.” _You can do this, Rogers_. “I hate to do this, but can we push it back to tomorrow?” 

“Oh no,” Bucky murmurs. “What happened?” 

Another deep breath. “The train had to stop for a technical thing and I felt a little…trapped. I had a panic attack. There may have been puke.” 

“Oh no, you were that guy who puked on the train?”

 “No!” Steve manages to force out a laugh. “Definitely not. I managed to get out in time. Hauled ass to the Starbucks off Union Square.”

“Fuck, that’s awful,” Bucky says. “Don’t worry about tonight. Although, if you want…ah, never mind. Lay low.”

 “No, what is it?” Despite the shaky flaps, his heart is calming down. And if Steve were totally honest with himself, he misses Bucky. 

“Well…this is just an offer, and you can one hundred percent say no. But I’ve worked a lot with combat vets and if you wanted to stop by I can show you some meditation practices that seem to work pretty well? It won’t take too long. We don’t even have to eat dinner, so tomorrow can be the real date.” Bucky is so helpful, so kind. Steve’s so fucking _gone_. 

“I…” 

“I swear if you say no I won’t be offended,” Bucky adds quickly. “We can go out tomorrow to a wonderful time, wherever we’re going.” 

“No, I think…I think that would be really great. Where are you in Brooklyn again? I’m coming out of Red Hook.” 

“Oh that’s pretty close! I live off Prospect Park. I’ll text you the address.”

It’s not a date. It’s not even a hangout. It’s just going to be Bucky the yoga teacher, showing Steve some things he can practically apply to his personal life.

That’s it.

 Or at least that’s what Steve keeps furiously telling himself as he hops on the train back to his apartment, scrubs any evidence of puke and anxiety off his body, stands in front of his closet for _far_ too long trying to figure out what to wear, and ultimately gets buzzed into Bucky’s _very_ expensive-looking apartment building in a blue button down and khakis with a brown belt. He feels like a 95 year old in this getup but it was literally the only thing left that was clean. 

It again strikes him as he rides the elevator up to Bucky’s floor that he’s never actually visited Bucky’s apartment. The thought fills him with a kind of nervous glee; his own apartment is full of clean lines and modest colors, mainly because his mom helped a ton with the decorating. He assumes Bucky is much more of an adult, and probably did his own designing of his place. 

When he timidly knocks on the door, the sound of aggressive barking floods through the door. He hears a muffled “Sarge, I swear to God, I’m going to sell you to a farm upstate!” and restrains a laugh just in time before the door swings open and the head of a German Shepherd pokes out. 

“Wow,” Steve breathes, because of _course_ Bucky has one of the most beautiful dogs Steve’s ever seen. The German Shepherd is shaking his head, obviously restrained and annoyed by it. 

Bucky’s head pops out from behind the door. “I’m sorry, he gets super excited when people come over,” the brunet apologizes, using his body to strongarm the now-barking dog away from the entrance so Steve can get into the apartment. “Steve, meet Sarge.” 

“Oh don’t worry about me being freaked out. I love dogs,” Steve smiles. “I’ve even been considering getting a service dog.” He gets down on a knee and holds out an arm to Sarge, who immediately blasts past Bucky’s hold and sticks his nose straight into Steve’s groin. Bucky groans. “He’s got _horrific_ manners. Honestly, I don’t know where he gets it.” 

Steve eventually manages to get Sarge off him enough to stand up and get a good look at Bucky. The brunet is wearing a fitted grey shirt and dark-wash jeans that are stretched to almost their breaking point across his thighs. Steve realizes he’s staring and snaps his head up to meet Bucky’s dancing eyes. They both smile. 

“Hey," Bucky grins. 

“Hey yourself." Steve’s nervousness washes away. Bucky’s presence is so soothing, so capable, it makes the first-date anxieties seem very small indeed. 

_Dammit Rogers, it is not a first date, you’re not wasting what little first date moves you have on this little private yoga lesson._

_Maybe he can give you other private lessons, too_ , another voice in his head pipes up, taunting. 

Steve runs a hand through his hair as Bucky waits, patient as ever. 

“Um. Okay. So…how do we do this?” 

Bucky blinks, then lets loose a smooth grin that makes Steve wish he were close to a wall so he could find something to grab onto, because that smile should be fucking _illegal_. “Well, aren’t you a smooth talker,” Bucky purrs. 

Steve can feel his blush go all the way down to his damn feet. “I’m sorry. Ugh. I’m the worst.” 

“Actually, you’re the opposite of the worst,” Bucky says, which makes Steve go even pinker. He wrangles Sarge into the kitchen behind a doggy gate, then beckons Steve into the apartment. “Come on in. I’ll show you the place.” 

Steve follows dutifully, taking in the sheer warmth and coziness of Bucky’s home. Everything is in shades of red and brown in the living room, with a shaggy carpet and wall-hangings giving it the feel of some kind of Mongolian tent. He mentions this to Bucky and Bucky bubbles out a laugh. “That’s so funny you say that because when I was decorating I was _really_ into yurts. Which is so gross and hipster-y of me. I mean, hi, cultural appropriation! But I meant well, I swear.” He covers his eyes in mock embarrassment. Steve wants to kiss the laugh off his damn face.

_This is not a date, Rogers!_

“Okay,” Bucky interrupts Steve’s speeding Acela train of thought. “I have to go grab some stuff, but – “ he gestures to the mat in the middle of the living room floor, in front of the coffee table littered with notebooks (Steve can see some posture sequences on some pages, and then some brainstorming for writing projects on others). “Take a seat on there. You can take your shoes off, too, if you want, if that helps you get more comfortable. There’s also blankets and stuff if you need to get some height under your bum.”

Steve can feel his eyebrows raise, because that might be the most adorable thing he’s ever heard. “You just said ‘bum.’”

“Yes. Yes I did.” Bucky winks, and disappears into what Steve can only assume is his bedroom. A new pang washes over him, not unlike what he felt earlier on the subway, but this feeling is infinitely more delicious. It’s the zing of anticipation zipping up his spine. He wants to know what that bedroom looks like. Very much. So much it almost physically pains him in his bones.

_God dammit, Rogers, this is not a date!_

He manages to talk himself down and into a seated position on the mat when Bucky comes out of the bedroom with a little stereo and two small incense sticks. “Is this going to bother your lungs?” he asks, concern painting his voice in bold strokes. “I know your asthma is pretty much gone, but I don’t want to trigger anything if I can help it.” 

“No, no, it’s fine!” Steve says _way_ too enthusiastically, then bites down on his lip. “I mean. It’s fine. Don’t worry.” 

Bucky doesn’t say anything in response. He just smiles to himself like he’s got a secret as he lights the incense, then settles himself down so he’s seated just beyond the edge of Steve’s mat. He grabs a remote and turns on some music – Steve recognizes the woman’s chanting voice from one of Bucky’s more intensive classes. 

“Okay. So just a little bit of backstory on this. You’ve heard me talk a lot about breathing in class, right?” Steve nods. “So, breathing is part of what’s called the ‘limbs’ of yoga. If we can control and watch our breath, we can regulate the sympathetic nervous system, which can calm anxiety and stress. Breathing, and techniques to quiet and even out the breath, can help to quiet the mind. So you won’t panic as often. I mean, obviously it’s not going to be a failsafe. You’ll still panic sometimes.” Bucky gives a little shrug. “I still panic sometimes, as you well know. But it’s about a thousand times easier when you have little tools in your box you can look to when you need them. Eventually I’ll probably lecture you on your dosha and the right things to eat and the times to sleep and wake up to pacify the more anxious tendencies you have, but I’m pretty sure you want to go home at some point tonight." 

 _Not if I can help it,_ Steve’s brain murmurs, and not even because he wants to jump Bucky's bones (although it helps, it really helps). He could listen to Bucky talk about this shit forever. The passion and love Bucky feels for this spiritual practice flows off of him like rainwater. Not for the first time he’s struck with a deep urge to draw Bucky as he’s practicing or meditating. Bucky in stillness is a beautiful thing to witness.

It strikes him, then, listening to Bucky talk about diaphragmatic breathing and alternating nostrils, how deeply Steve feels for this man who’s forced him to change his life for the better. 

He’s so far down in his thoughts he doesn’t even realize Bucky’s waiting for him to say something. “Oh. Um.”

Bucky laughs. “It’s okay. I know it’s a lot. Let’s get to the actual stuff you can do.” 

He holds up his right hand. “This one is really useful. It’s called Nadi Shodhan pranayama – alternate nostril breathing. It feels a little weird at first, but it’s so great once you get used to it. Use the pad of your thumb to hold down your right nostril, and your ring finger to do the same to your left. Place the tips of your index and middle fingers to the center of your brow.”

Steve does this, feeling a little ridiculous as he always does when he’s doing yoga, but his brain gently reminds him he spent a portion of this afternoon hurling in a Starbucks bathroom so it would be good of him to get some of this advice. Bucky nods. “Okay. Now I want you to let go of your left nostril and breathe in all the way to the top of the breath. Okay. Good. Once you get the hang of this rhythm I want you to close your eyes.”

He instructs Steve to plug his nose with the ring finger again and hold the breath at the top. When he can’t hold it anymore, Steve lets go of his right nostril and breathes out, holding at the bottom. Bucky coaches him through a few more rounds of this alternate nostril breathing, and after a little while, Steve can feel a serenity wash over him, thick and luxurious. With every exercise he does, with every small thing Bucky teaches him, he can understand why this practice is so important.

“Feeling good?” Bucky asks. Steve nods.

“Okay, keep going, I just want to check something.”

And then – oh, _god_ \- Steve feels Bucky’s thumb tracing the space between Steve’s brows, right above where his index and middle finger are resting. “You’ve still got a little bit of tension here,” he murmurs. He massages down with the pad of his thumb, and Steve might actually keel over and die.

The thumb continues in smooth, gentle strokes, while Steve keeps breathing (although the breath is getting slightly ragged because of the close proximity of Bucky’s body, breath, thumb, _everything_ ), body rising and falling, the sheer weight of the emotions pressing down on his heart both breaking him and healing things he didn’t even realize were broken. 

“You can open your eyes,” Bucky whispers, and Steve’s throat nearly closes at the sound of it. Bucky sounds _destroyed._

He flutters his eyes open and nearly jerks back. Bucky’s much closer than he thought; a bare two inches separates their mouths. His eyes are wide, his mouth slightly open, like he can’t quite believe what he’s doing. The brunet’s thumb leaves Steve’s forehead and paints a line down his face, followed by the rest of his hand so it cups his cheek. Steve can’t breathe. Can’t think. Every single thing he’s ever thought or done in his life is squarely focused on the point of contact between Bucky’s skin and his. He never really bought into that idea of things boiling down to soft focus when someone is It for you, but it’s actually fucking happening. 

And isn’t that thought terrifying and wonderful – Bucky Barnes is _it_ for Steve Rogers. He’s never felt like this before. About anyone, or anything. He could stare into those gunmetal eyes forever and never come up with the right pigment and never get tired of trying to discover how to translate it in paints and inks. The room feels small but not in the way the subway car did. Instead of a chokehold it wraps around Steve like a warm embrace, pushing him towards this man and all he represents.

Bucky’s voice is like crushed gravel. “You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?”

Steve covers Bucky’s hand with his own, urging his voice (and other parts of his body) to remain steady as he looks deep into the other man’s eyes. “I…I’m not going to lie,” he says shakily, “I really, really, really want to kiss you right now.”

Bucky’s eyes light up, but Steve plows ahead. “But…this is you teaching me how to meditate and breathe. If we mix…what I’m feeling for you…along with that. It wouldn’t be fair. I want to keep it separate. I value what you do too much to…taint it.” 

Bucky stares at him for a long, long moment. 

Then he busts a gut laughing.

Steve shoves him – not too hard, but enough to pack a little bit of a wallop. “Hey! I’m trying to be _respectful_ of the _spiritual tradition_ here, you jerk!”

“Oh my God, Steve Rogers, you’re going to kill me,” Bucky moans with glee, scrambling back up from where Steve pushed him over. “You’re the best. You have no idea how many guys have tried to fucking proposition me while I’m trying to just give them a goddamn private practice.”

“Oh God. Really?” Steve’s heart sinks down to his feet.

“Yes. If I had a dollar for every time a guy has come over to me while I’m in down dog and tried to make a sex position joke out of it, I’d be a millionaire,” Bucky grunts, idly scratching his left arm; Steve lets his eyes linger over the color and shapes of the tattoos. Eventually he’ll ask what they all mean. Eventually he’ll get close enough to really look at them. 

“Which is why you saying you want to keep work and play separate makes me like you even more.” Bucky smiles in that way that curls Steve’s toes, and Steve leans in just a little bit. “Okay. I want us to go out tomorrow night. Meet me at 6PM at ION, okay?” 

“ION? No way. That’s one of my favorite places,” Bucky exclaims. 

“Yeah…I remember you told me about it once when we were getting breakfast after class,” Steve says, and promptly closes his eyes and blushes because Jesus, he couldn’t be more cheesy if he tried. 

The feel of Bucky’s lips on his cheek causes his eyes to pop open. It’s a quick, chaste kiss, but Steve feels it at the ends of his hair, to the tips of his toes. “I quite like how you remember everything I tell you, Steve Rogers. I quite like _you_ ,” Bucky murmurs. 

“I quite like you too,” Steve manages to scrape out. 

The whining of a thoroughly ignored German Shepherd in the kitchen causes Bucky to scramble to his feet. “Fuck, I have to take Sarge out. I hope that helped! And…I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“You bet,” Steve smiles.

He lets himself out of the apartment, gets about three feet away when his entire body jerks around and propels him back to the door to knock before he can convince himself that this is so stupid, so totally contradictory of everything he had just said, everything they'd just agreed to,  _fuck fuck fuck-_

“Did you forget something?” Bucky says upon opening the door. Steve shakes his head.

“Uh. I was thinking,” Steve says, frantically searching his brain for an excuse to do what he wants to do because he clearly _wasn't_ thinking, “Since now we’re not doing any meditative practices and, uh, I’m just standing here and you’re there, and it’s not a teacher-student thing and it wouldn’t be too weird, would it be okay if I –“ 

He can’t get anything else out because Bucky steps forward, frames Steve’s face with his graceful hands. “Steve,” he says, calm, amused, “Did you come back here to kiss me?” 

“…Yes,” Steve finishes off, helplessly, his own arms winding around Bucky’s waist of their own accord. “Please, can I kiss you?” 

“Took you fucking long enough,” Bucky says simply, and Steve leans in. 

It’s like every happy ending to every cornball movie he’s ever seen. The kiss is soft and sweet, a 180 turnaround from the one kiss they shared in the bathroom of that photoshoot. They’re taking things slow, so it doesn’t morph into anything other than simple connection. This isn’t desperate. It’s a promise. 

When they break apart, both men are smiling. “Wow,” Steve breathes, unable to really get anything else out. 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, pressing his forehead to Steve’s. “If that’s a preview for tomorrow, I want it to be tomorrow _now_.” 

Steve squeaks out a laugh and gives Bucky one more kiss. “Okay, if I don’t go, I’m pretty sure your dog is going to shit on the kitchen floor.”

“I told you that story?” Bucky groans. “I swear I’m going to get him trained.” 

“You’ve been saying that since the day I met you,” Steve smiles, heart feeling impossibly full like he’s submerged in warm water. 

Bucky’s smile widens. “I’m so happy I met you, Steve Rogers.” 

Steve leaves Bucky’s apartment and practically floats to the elevator. The breathing techniques helped a lot, but there isn’t anything Steve has tried more successful at curing all ills than a kiss from Bucky Barnes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve has a panic attack when the train car he's on has to make a full stop and the trapped feeling he gets makes his PTSD flare up. He manages to get out of the train on the next stop and throw up in a bathroom. He calls Bucky to cancel their date and Bucky invites him to his apartment to do some meditative practices to help with anxiety and panic, and they end up kissing at the end of the date (which is not a date).
> 
> God I loved writing this. These two idiots.
> 
> What Steve is wearing to Bucky's apartment: 
> 
> What Bucky is wearing (at least the shirt)
> 
> [Tumblr!](http://marciellaniello.tumblr.com)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky’s never wanted anyone the way he wants Steve Rogers. He daydreams his way through the sequencing of his 10AM vinyasa, high off the memory of the blond’s mouth pressing reverently against his. Against all of his better judgment he had let Steve go, promising more to come during their date – their date – when every bone in his body (some more than others) were screaming at him to rip Steve out of that ridiculously throwback khaki and button-down combo he was wearing and let him pin Bucky to his own bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which these idiots finally get together. (NSFW photo in the end notes!)

Bucky can’t even concentrate at all during his Saturday classes, nor does he really pay attention when Pierce calls him between teaching with a passive-aggressive reminder that he has a book proposal due the following week and if he would be “so kind as to email back those edits.” Bucky couldn’t give less of a shit. 

A tall blonde takes his 8AM gentle stretching class and Bucky has to try extremely hard to not picture Steve as he watches the stranger kick up into a handstand. He distracts himself by chugging coconut water. When he walks out to check in the next class he can see Darcy smirking so hard her damn lip piercing is bending. “Shut up,” he hums as Darcy cackles and beeps in someone’s ID card. 

Bucky’s never wanted  _anyone_  the way he wants Steve Rogers. He daydreams his way through the sequencing of his 10AM vinyasa, high off the memory of the blond’s mouth pressing reverently against his. Against all of his better judgment he had let Steve go, promising more to come during their date – their  _date_  – when every bone in his body (some more than others) were screaming at him to rip Steve out of that ridiculously throwback khaki and button-down combo he was wearing and let him pin Bucky to his own bed. 

The want isn’t just physical; it permeates all the layers of Bucky’s heart. Steve is human, and real, and part of that reality means accepting the things about Steve that aren’t necessarily perfect. He’s stubborn, and doesn’t like to show his emotions, and he’s got a temper on him that could get him into trouble. But he’s got so much passion, and kindness, and basic decency. 

Fuck, Bucky was unsure about whether or not he loved Steve before, but he’s pretty damn sure now.

“I’m not gonna leave you alone until you give me more info,” Darcy singsongs from behind the desk. Bucky woozily hangs up the phone call from Pierce, not really internalizing anything his boss said, still replaying the texture and colors of last night across his mind. He throws Darcy a Look but she just giggles and takes a long pull of her iced coffee. “Don’t give me that ‘pretending to be pissed off’ shit. I can’t wait to hear about the date.”

“Who told you?”

“Maria – she’s subbing your class tonight so you can go meet your Golden God,” Darcy licks her teeth in glee like a tiger about to rip the throat out of a zebra. “I am going to want very. Specific. Details.”

“Pervert,” Bucky chuckles, shouldering his yoga bag and making his way down the stairs. Some things he wants to keep just to himself. Like the memory of Steve’s mouth, and the future it portends.

* * *

 

Bucky is pretty good at knowing what works and what doesn’t on a date, outfit-wise. White semi-sheer tshirt, dark-wash jeans, a leather jacket. Hair knotted up in the back. Put-together, but rough around the edges. Just the way he likes. Just the way the guys he’s dated tend to like, too.

They make a strange sort of pair, Bucky decides as he heads to grab a taxi for Williamsburg. Steve looks like the All-American football jock, the kind of guy you’d take home to Mom. Whereas Bucky…well. Bucky’s got what one article in  _Yoga Journal_ called “dangerous beauty.” You don’t take dangerous beauty home to meet the parents, no matter how desperately you want to prove how good of a soul you are beyond all the surface. You probably fuck dangerous beauty in the back seat.  

Brock treated Bucky like a back seat screw. He never took Bucky on nice dates. Never brought Bucky to meet his parents. Brock, as good looking and charismatic as he was, was also, in the words of Natasha, “A class-A shitstain.”  

He pushes thoughts of Brock and the attendant feelings of inadequacy out of his head as he gets out of the cab, noting the appreciative eye he’s given by the woman who gets in after him. He’s getting his fitness back after the injury, which has dulled down to a slight twinge if he forgets to take some Advil. The half-marathon is out of the question but he’s promised Steve he’ll be the loudest, most obnoxious spectator in Brooklyn.

His jaw nearly drops to the floor when he catches sight of Steve leaning up against the side of ION. Dressed in a blue henley that is probably three sizes too small for his frame (Not that Bucky is complaining, not at  _all_ ) and tight jeans with artful distressed points in the thighs and knees. On anyone else, it would look impossibly hipster but on Steve, it is damn near the sexiest thing anyone has ever worn. Bucky gets a flash of what it all might look like in a crumpled heap next to his bed.

_Bucky. Stoppppp._

“Hey, you,” he tries, once his tongue starts working again. Steve pushes off against the wall. He rakes his eyes up and down Bucky’s jeans and shirt and jacket combo. The gaze has a heat that licks its way up Bucky’s spine. “Hey you too,” he smiles, and pulls Bucky in for a hug before Bucky can really emotionally prepare for it. Bucky wants to live in this hug for the rest of his life.

They walk to their seats and Bucky has to turn to Steve and thank him for taking them here. ION, an acronym for It’s Only Natural, is a vegetarian and vegan restaurant Bucky frequents a lot with Maria and Sharon. 

Steve offers up a slow, tentative smile. “Yeah…I was reading the menu and they said they were doing a special on that thing you mentioned last night. The doshas?” 

“…Seriously?” Bucky flicks open the menu. Sure enough, there’s a few specials in a menu insert for the Kapha, Vata, and Pitta dosha, with combinations available. Bucky’s heart can’t take all of the adorable. “Have I told you today how fucking cute you are?” he gushes.

The flush goes even deeper. “No. But I never get tired of hearing it.”

Bucky ends up ordering one of the specials for Kapha – a spicy as hell curry dish that definitely clears his sinuses. He tells Steve about how Kapha is the dosha that when exacerbated causes sluggish behavior; “with everything going on with me sitting around with the knee injury, I figure I need something that’s a good kick in the ass,” he insists as Steve chuckles. Steve himself gets a tofu and mozzarella Panino with a side of roasted parsnips and sweet potatoes, as well as a veritable trough of broccoli. Bucky steals a bunch of them. “I’m a scavenger!” he admits. Steve practically giggles. 

Bucky leans in before he can stop himself, presses a kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth. Steve freezes. The entire world stops turning. Bucky wants to fling himself out the door and into Brooklyn traffic.  

The corners of Steve’s lips quirk up. “Huh. That was nice.” 

“…Yeah?”

“Yeah. But…I think you missed by a little bit.” Steve gestures to his perfect Cupid’s bow. “Try one more time?”

Oh  _fuck._  

Bucky launches forward again, tasting Steve’s mouth. He keeps it relatively PG – they’re in public, after all – but he can’t think of anything better in the world than a sweet kiss over dinner with Steve.

Their conversation spans the gamut from work, to fitness, to films, to everything in between. It’s so effortless talking to Steve. Bucky feels relaxed, like he’s had a glass of wine, but he’s tipsy on the company. He gets to talk about his parents, who live upstate after their retirement. “I don’t see them that often, which sucks,” he sighs. “I’ve been planning on going up for Christmas; I carved out a block of time from teacher training.”

“That’s great,” Steve says, popping broccoli into his mouth. “I think I’m going to spend Thanksgiving with Mom and my aunts. Probably go visit Dad, too.”

“Oh, is he buried in Brooklyn?” 

“Nah, we couldn’t find a good plot for him. He’s upstate too.” 

“Huh.” Bucky files  _that_ information away for later. It should scare him, that he’s already making future plans and projecting in his head to some other time when they’re on more solid footing. He wants to hope. It lands feather-light in his chest, wings carrying a soft beat.

They make plans to meet up after the Brooklyn Marathon next week. Steve is still mad about the skinheads who ruined his chances to run, but Bucky is more circumspect. “I probably shouldn’t have been running it anyway, my knee is delicate.”

“Still. I really wish we knew who those assholes were. I want to press charges  _for_  you. Or at least get a good punch in myself.” 

Bucky feels warmed by Steve’s passion. He slides his hand across the table to gently brush Steve’s fingers. “I really do appreciate it, you know. And also, thank you for that email you sent me when I was in the hospital.”

Steve looks down at their slightly interlocked hands, pushes his own forward to tangle further with Bucky’s. “I had been planning on surprising you at yoga with something I drew and a huge in-person apology, but those asshole skinheads ruined both your knee and my plan.” He squeezes, delicious pressure against Bucky’s palm. “But I guess you were right. Things happen for a reason.”

Not for the first time, Bucky wonders how he got so lucky to be around a guy like Steve Rogers.

* * *

 

“So, it's a nice night,” Steve says, voice oddly distant in the night air as they walk out of dinner. Bucky nods. “I probably shouldn’t have worn such a heavy jacket, but fuck it. I paid enough for it.”  

“I’m glad you wore it. It looks good.” Steve still sounds hazy, and Bucky twists his head around to look at him more closely. He sees Steve’s hands clenching at random intervals. “Hey,” he murmurs, a hand solid on Steve’s back. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Everything’s fine.” A muscle jumps in Steve’s jaw. “I just…I…” 

“Hey,” Bucky whispers, looking around and pulling Steve into a nearby alley. “Talk to me, bud. What’s going on?”

Steve pushes a hard exhale from between his teeth, as if he’s been mulling something for days and can’t keep it inside anymore. “Wouldyouliketocomehomewithme?”

It takes a second for it to sink in, and then Bucky’s world melts in shades of gold and red, dizzy and brilliant. Relief thunders through his blood. “Goddamn, you’re a punk,” he hisses, yanking Steve in for a kiss before either of them can think anymore.

Steve’s mouth opens, yielding, under Bucky’s ministrations. His tongue splits Bucky’s lips, curls and licks into the brunet’s mouth, and Bucky feels a heady buzz threaten to consume him utterly. His back hits the alley wall; his hands reach up to push through Steve’s perfectly sculpted hair. He wants to mess it up. Wants to mess with Steve Rogers’s façade, reveal the scraps and bones of the human underneath. Wants his guts. Wants his soul.

They break apart, panting, Steve’s eyes wild and searching. “I assume that’s a yes?” he rasps. 

“Hell yeah,” Bucky smirks, grabbing Steve’s hand.

* * *

 

They move quickly – holding hands the entire walk – and when they get to Steve’s walkup, the blond has to work for at least a minute to get the key in the lock because Bucky is insistently trailing his hands all over Steve’s back, trying to feel all of him. His mouth dares a sweep over Steve’s neck, tasting musk and clean lines and something like sea salt, as the key finally gets in the lock and twists. 

They fall inside with all the finesse of two horny guys who’ve been waiting too long.

With balance honed from his days of dance, Bucky spins and pins Steve against the front door. Steve lets out a growl that goes straight to Bucky’s dick as he sucks a mark into the blonds’ collarbone. He manages to get Steve’s hands and pin them in a haphazard clutch on either side of his head, making his arms into goalposts. The movement causes Steve’s biceps to flex and Bucky can’t help himself – he dips his head, traces one beautiful, bold muscle line with his tongue. Steve makes another guttural sound.

The air goes still. 

Bucky works his way back up to Steve’s mouth, brushes a kiss against his lips. “Quick question.” He peppers Steve’s jaw with kisses at the sight of his eyes, questioning and a little worried. “You bottom?” He wants to fuck Steve stupid, but if it’s been a while, or if Steve's not vers, he's more than okay with it.

Steve does that goddamn  _blush_ again, and it makes Bucky’s thighs brace with the urge to shoot off like he’s a high schooler who can’t control his boner. “I’m gonna need an answer before I legit embarrass both of us,” he pants.  

“Yes, I do, but I haven't for a long time,” Steve replies, and there’s a little bit of a whine in his voice that makes Bucky laugh breathlessly. Steve sucks down on Bucky’s lower lip, chasing the laugh away in an instant. “But it’s okay.”

“Yeah?” Bucky hopes beyond hope the next words out of Steve’s mouth are going to line up with what he’s thinking. It wasn’t what he had originally planned for tonight but fuck it, he’s flexible. In more ways than one.

“Yeah.” Steve sticks his tongue out, licks at Bucky’s mouth in a way that should  _not_ be as helplessly erotic as it is. “I  _hope_ you bottom, because I’d love to fuck you tonight.”

“Fuck,” Bucky moans, his brain quickly melting into lava. He sucks down on Steve's tongue. “I mean, I’m not opposed to that, but I’m gonna need some convincing.” His left hand lets go of Steve’s wrist to slide down the front of the other man’s chest, landing on the front of his jeans. He cups Steve through the fabric, notices how it makes Steve’s pupils blow out instantly. “Oh my God, Steve,” Bucky whispers, because not only is Steve gorgeous and smart and kind, of _course_  he has a fantastic dick. 

“You feel that?” Steve moves his hips minutely in a slow grind against Bucky’s palm. “You want that in you?”

 _Okay, where the fuck did_ this _guy come from and what did he do with all American Steve Rogers?_ Not that Bucky’s complaining, not by a long shot. Visions of getting tied up, of willingly submitting to Steve’s powerful frame, dance behind Bucky’s eyes. 

He forces out a laugh. Two can play at this game. “You know I do,” he scrapes out, his voice teasing but with a hint of steel. “Please, Steve.” 

“Say it,” Steve grunts, predatory, ripping his other hand out of Bucky’s grip and moving both palms to Bucky’s ass. He forces their hips together, trapping Bucky’s hand between them, and Bucky uses the pressure to massage Steve’s dick through his jeans in tight circles. He can’t stop a reedy sound from falling out of his throat. If he wants Bucky to talk, Bucky will talk all night.

“You like it when I tell you what I want, huh?” 

Steve’s blown out pupils and increasingly heavy breathing tells Bucky everything he needs to know. “I want you to fuck me so bad. I want you. Want that cock.” He presses a kiss to Steve’s ear, swirling the lobe with his tongue. One hand moves up to slide underneath Steve’s shirt, taking in all of that muscle he's been thirsting over for so long. “Fuck…baby, been wanting it so bad. Want you everywhere. Been all I’ve thought about since the moment I met you." He bites down on the lobe, revels in how Steve shakes under his touch. "Can’t stop thinking about taking your dick.” And to have Steve take _his_ dick, but that’s for another time, when they can take it slow and really revel in each other. Right now, Bucky just wants to get nailed.

He manages to snap open Steve’s fly with one hand – he’s a tricky bastard that way – and slides his hand down so he can feel Steve’s cock through his boxers. “… _Yes_.” This is going to be  _fun_.

Steve goes pink again. Bucky bursts out laughing. “Steve, I cannot be the first person to tell you how big your dick is!”

“Well, yeah, but it’s nice to hear!” Steve splutters. Bucky keeps on laughing. Steve moves his hands up to bracket Bucky’s face to meet his lips in a sound kiss. Bucky’s heart fills. “Please,” he practically whimpers against Steve’s already kiss-reddened lips. “Please. Been waiting for months. Don’t make me wait anymore.”

He’s not sure if that was the right thing to say, but Steve’s face practically dissolves into aching tenderness and he presses his forehead tight against Bucky’s. "I'll never make you wait again." 

 _I love you_ , Bucky's heart sings.

* * *

 

They move in a tangled clump in the direction of what Bucky can only assume is the bedroom – he manages to catch glimpses of ivory and sable black. Simple lines. Classic. Like the man who lives here, the man slipping Bucky’s shirt off with almost painful precision, dropping his mouth to his left arm to lavish attention on his tattoos. “Eventually I’m going to have to ask you about these,” he marvels against Bucky’s skin.

“Eventually. Not now. It'll take time away from you fucking me," Bucky cracks. He clicks his tongue as if to say  _get on with it_ , terribly fond.

They both hit the bed at the same time but Steve pops up to divest himself of his shirt and pants while Bucky slips off his pants. They take each other in. Bucky really, really hopes he’s not drooling because holy  _shit_  Steve looks like he’s made from marble; smooth skin, impossibly small hips and waist, insanely broad shoulders, and abs you could do laundry on. “You seriously are the most beautiful man I have ever seen in my life,” he says, strangled with feeling.  

The look in Steve’s eyes – arousal shot through with pure adoration – makes Bucky’s entire body get hot. “Takes one to know one,” Steve says bashfully. He crawls onto the bed, makes his way on top of  Bucky. Bucky feels every inch of that delicious weight. He arches his back off the bed at the first brush of his cock against Steve’s, two fires meeting. “Steve, we can drag this out another time,” he urges. “Need you.”

A laugh stirs up from inside Steve’s chest. He kisses Bucky soundly and rummages around in his side table for lube and condoms. “Okay. Just tell me if you need me to stop?”

“I don’t see that happening, but of course.” Bucky lays back, slips his hand over his dick, scratching slightly over the slit with his thumbnail. Steve settles in between Bucky’s thighs and knocks away Bucky’s fingers, replacing them with his own. Bucky practically shoots off the bed. “Oh my God.” 

“If you come before I get inside you, I’m going to be furious,” Steve tsks, slicking his hand up with lube. Bucky can’t even laugh. It all feels too good; Steve’s hand gently wrapped around his cock, the other breaching his hole with cool, slick touch. One finger circles around his entrance and Bucky finds it very, very hard to breathe. “Goddammit, don’t tease me,” he yelps. Steve laughs, hard, finger deftly massaging in slow strokes. “You are such a bossy bottom!”

“Yes, yes I am –  _fuck_ ,” Bucky jolts up as Steve’s finger pushes past the first ring of muscle. A minute or forever goes by, then a second finger joins, opening him up achingly slow. A string of profanities falls from Bucky’s mouth, much to Steve’s apparent amusement. He launches up and latches a mouth around Bucky’s right nipple, tongueing at the pebbled skin, making Bucky quiver under his lips. “One more and then I think you’ll be ready.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for _that_ ,” Bucky manages to joke, hips firing up as a third finger catches the rim.

Steve swears under his breath. "So tight. Can't wait to get in you."

Bucky trails his fingers across Steve's abdomen, the muscles he's been longing to touch for so long. It's almost too much. "Now, I'm ready." Voice nearly breaking with how much he's ready. 

He tears the wrapping off the condom with his teeth, watching Steve's face as he rolls it on. He gives his own cock a slow stroke as Steve settles in between his legs. He feels the head of Steve’s dick slip past the rim and that’s it. Bucky is absolutely, one hundred percent going to die.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” he moans, not really caring that they’re in an apartment building with other tenants and probably little kids and thin walls all around. Steve is inside of him. They finally got here. And Bucky knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s in love with the man moving heartbreakingly slow above him.

Steve’s face passes with a thousand different emotions before settling on what Bucky can only think as _overwhelmed_. “You feel _amazing_ ,” he breathes, moving slowly, slowly, until he’s bottomed out. Bucky creeps a hand over Steve’s ass, keeping him buried at the root for just a little longer. He wants to keep this memory locked in his mind. His other hand strokes the side of Steve’s face. Everything freezes in one perfect sensation of Steve buried in him to the hilt.

Their lips touch, anchoring them together. Then – 

“Move," Bucky commands, not even recognizing his own voice.

When Steve begins to thrust, it brushes against Bucky’s spot in a way that isn’t aggressive, but it’s just repetitive enough that it keeps Bucky moaning uncontrollably. He responds to the feeling by clenching tight, a vicegrip on Steve’s cock as it slides in an out. Steve lets out a groan, and Bucky nods. “God…yes. Let go, baby. Let go.” He swears in the three languages he knows, and the two he can get by in. Apparently his ability to speak in more than just English is too much for Steve to take – he turns bright red and begins to thrust more erratically. Bucky wordlessly flips his pelvis up so his legs are sticking up in the air, waiting for Steve to take hold of them and put them over his shoulders. Steve, thankfully, gets the hint, proceeds to thrust straight down into Bucky so every push hits his prostate.

Shortly after, Bucky flips them for a bit so he can ride Steve's dick. Steve wraps his arms around Bucky's middle, holds him like a promise.

He can’t last. Won’t. “I…fuck, Steve, I’m gonna…” he exhales, and Steve nods. He gets back on top, thrusts harder. “Come for me,” Steve pleads, hips snapping forward. One hand curls around Bucky's cock and gives it several long jerks.

That does it. Bucky lets out a loud, shaky cry as he spills between their stomachs. It pools near his navel, with drips landing on his chest and a drop on his chin. A few seconds later, Steve pushes into Bucky until he’s bottomed out again, jerking frenetically as he topples over the edge.

Bucky realizes immediately after the orgasm that Steve had grasped his hand at some point between thrusts. It pushes up against the bedsheets, still tightly entwined with Steve’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, RIGHT?!
> 
> This story is winding down. I know, I KNOW. But I've had such a blast creating this world. I love this Steve and Bucky; they're complicated and weird and funny and real to me. 
> 
> This chapter and the visual of Bucky riding Steve's dick would not be possible without this amazing photo I found on Tumblr:
> 
> Comments and kudos are GREATLY appreciated - I try to respond to every one!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the happy ending is FINALLY around the corner.

Steve wakes up to an empty bed.

A sharp stab hits him in the chest. Last night. It was a dream. Some fantasy designed to give him false hope. 

The tickling on that same expanse of skin, near his collarbone, gives Steve pause from this flight of despair. A crumpled up piece of paper. Hope kindles in his heart. 

_I open the studio Sunday mornings. I wanted to wake you but you sleep like you’re dead. Plus it’s 6AM and after last night I really don’t want you to hate me._

_You’re amazing. Come by the studio today if you can._

  * _B_



Next to his writing, Bucky has scrawled a little smiling stick figure with an apologetic _I can’t draw unlike some geniuses I know_ next to it. 

It all comes back. An attack on his senses.

_“Tell me about this one.”_

_Bucky laughs, a creamy sound. Salty vanilla and smoke. It lathers Steve’s bones. He twists his neck to look at the tattoo in question, a red star on the cap of his shoulder then settles his head back on Steve’s chest.“When I got the job at Star Yoga. It was a big deal for me – Bruce is so respected in the community, and I really wanted a home studio. Somewhere I could grow my base. The people who come there are so wonderful, and I love everyone who works there.”_

_“Seems a good reason to get a tattoo.” Steve points to a pattern of white flowers with pink edging. The biggest one, near his wrist, has a red heart sketched into the center._

_“Ah, the lotus. You’ve seen me do that pose in class. You’ve tried it. And failed, because your hips are made of rubber cement.”_

_“Hey!” Steve playfully shoves Bucky. “They’re getting better.”_

_“Yeah they are. You just showed me how good your hips are.” Bucky kisses Steve’s nipple. He shivers, but his dick can only give a half-hearted twitch. Bucky gets it, content to trace circles on Steve’s skin. “The lotus grows in muddy water. It’s a reminder that we all start out in the earth. And it’s white, which means purification. If it was red, it’d mean love and compassion, but with the heart inside, it’s already got that element in there.”_

_He gestures to the rest of the arm, a floating cosmic painting of space, planets, and symbols. “Some of this I got right after I got hurt and I was really pissed off. I wanted to mark up my body so it wasn’t as pure and perfect after so many years of willing it to look flaw free. I’m just glad I didn’t do anything super culturally appropriative.”_

_“I think it’s beautiful, Buck.”_

_He feels Bucky smile against his skin. “And some of it’s just because space is fucking cool.”_

_Steve cracks up at that. Bucky pinches his side. “Fuck off, I’m a space geek!”_

_“Yeah, you’re a geek all right.”_

_“Says the guy who’s got the entire X-Men lineup memorized.”_

_“I love – that you remember that.” Steve bites back what he really wants to say. He leans forward, takes Bucky’s arm. Presses a kiss to the lotus at his wrist, right at the heart. He can hear Bucky take in a deep breath, like he’s about to say something, but then the air escapes him in a shaky exhale. “Steve.”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“…Nothing.”_

_“No, not nothing. Honesty. Remember?"_

_Right after they’d had sex, Steve and Bucky had talked. They agreed they wanted to do this for real. No messing around. Just honesty and communication. Then Bucky had pushed Steve down on his bed and taken him apart with his mouth._

_Bucky grits his teeth. “Okay. Honesty.”_

_He looks at Steve in the eyes, grey-blue clouded with what Steve can only assume is nervousness. Since when is Bucky Barnes nervous? “It’s way too early but…I could see myself falling in love with you.”_

_Steve’s heart bursts into a thousand songs._

_“I’m glad we’re on the same page.” He presses a kiss to Bucky’s forehead, pulls him in tight._

He looks at the clock. 9AM. If he hustles, he can make it to Bucky’s Sunday 10AM. The Big Bad Daddy of Bucky’s classes. The one he’s been making excuses about not attending since he and Bucky met. 

No excuses anymore. 

On his way out he gets a call from Sam. “Hey, buddy.” 

“So?!” 

“….Yeah.” 

Sam’s whoops and hollers and “FUCKING FINALLY”’s make Steve blush harder than he’s probably done in while. “Okay, fine, you can shut up.” 

“Hang on, let me put Sharon on.” 

“Sharon?!” 

“Oh, yeah. We’re kinda, like, together now.”

“For real? You’re not just getting h-“

“Steve, the next word out of your mouth better be ‘happiness’ or I will end you.”

“Understood. Put Sharon on.”

When Sharon gets the phone she sounds just as thrilled as Sam. “You should probably call Nat, I just texted her. She’s going to hit the roof. We’re all so happy for you guys.”

“Yeah, it took you fucking long enough!” Sam yells from the background.

His phone buzzes. A text message from Nat: a string of praise hands and sobby-face emojis. 

Steve has the greatest friends. 

* * *

 

Star Yoga is packed. Steve can barely find a place for his (admittedly very cheap and ratty) mat amidst the thirty stretching and chatting yogis before the class begins. He strategically snuck in when he saw Bucky heading to the bathroom, throwing a “shhh” to Darcy (who grins like she’s about to plot a mass murder). 

When Bucky comes in Steve almost loses his breath. He has no shirt on, which makes sense because the room is about 90 degrees, and the tight-fitting shorts make everything Steve enjoyed last night seem that much more tantalizing. His body, already so beautiful to Steve, looks positively transcendent under the dim studio lights. He settles in, cross-legged, on his mat, and looks up to begin welcoming the class when he spots Steve.

“Oh!” 

Steve can feel his whole body get hot. Bucky’s face _gleams_ with happiness. The spaces next to his eyes crinkle, delight suffusing his grin. “Well, good morning.” He’s saying it to the class, ostensibly, but the look on his face transports Steve back to their nest of pillows and blankets and soft kisses over inked skin and Steve buried so deep inside of Bucky he thought he was going to lose his mind.

“I’m so happy to see all of you,” Bucky keeps on, eyes boring into Steve’s. “And I’m so thrilled to see some newcomers.” He’s got his yoga voice on, the one that he admitted to Steve is “pretentious as hell” but Steve finds it slightly authoritarian and therefore kind of hot. Bucky knows this. Steve is screwed.

“Now, if you haven’t been to this class before..this is a pretty tough one. I won’t lie. You’re gonna sweat. You’re gonna move. But I promise that you’re going to feel fantastic at the end. Just move at your own pace, don’t compete with anybody. I’m going to be practicing along with you, too.” He moves to stand up. “We’re gonna start in mountain pose right away today, so I hope you stretched.”

After a very quick opening meditation, Bucky hits “play” on his iPod. “We’ll be doing sun salutes to this song. Keep on my beat!” 

Steve has to work very hard to not laugh when “Push It” by Salt N Pepa blasts through the speakers. He manages to catch Bucky’s eye before they begin the salutes and he swears Bucky winks at him. 

Three minutes later Steve is regretting getting out of bed this morning. 

Twenty minutes later Steve wants to leave and puke his brains out. Bucky wasn’t kidding when he said a while back his 10 Saturday and Sunday classes are the ones people take when they want to “sweat out every mistake they’ve ever made.” Granted Steve is still not great at yoga but he tries everything, and he gets halfway through Bird of Paradise pose when Bucky comes over, adjusts his foot, and whispers, “You’re doing _amazing_.” It nearly makes Steve fall out of the pose. Bucky is proud of him. Of _him_. 

Bucky thankfully slows it down to some Sia around the hour mark and lets people do their own inversions and playing at the wall. Steve slowly saunters over and lets his eyes move over Bucky as he wipes off his body. “Hey,” he murmurs. Bucky looks up with a slow smile. “What’s up?” 

“Can you spot me?” Of course Steve doesn’t need to be spotted. Bucky, bless him, picks up on it immediately and walks him over to the wall. Steve kicks up into handstand, aided by Bucky’s sure touch on his ankles. “Good,” he purrs, and Steve feels a deep burn in his gut. Bucky’s fingers gently squeeze his feet, anchoring him in place. When Steve touches back down he accidentally-on-purpose brushes up against Bucky’s front.

“You keep doing that we won’t make it out of here,” Bucky whispers as he makes his way back to the front of the class – only Steve can tell he’s walking a little gingerly, like something hurts.

About twenty minutes later they finally get into savasana. A cover of Coldplay’s “Yellow” softly hums through the room and the lights dim. Bucky walks around, soft as a cat, giving adjustments and neck massages if need be. Steve can feel his presence before Bucky even touches him. Soft pressure at his feet, then a gentle pull. He feels his hips pop a little, then relax down. His eyes fly open. Bucky grins. “Chiropractic adjustment,” he whispers. He moves up to Steve’s head and touches the spot between his eyes that he massaged that one night Steve came over, the night they kissed for the first time. So much has changed since two nights ago, and yet, everything is still gloriously the same.

He doesn’t want to kiss Bucky right now – he made a promise about keeping work and play separate. Bucky is his teacher right now. But that doesn’t mean he can’t keep his eyes open and stare at Bucky’s mouth while the brunet massages his temples. Bucky licks his bottom lip, leans in close so only Steve can hear what falls out of his lips. “You are gonna _get it_ after this."

Steve is really glad everyone else has their eyes closed; he’s _instantly_ rock hard. Before he can come up with a proper rejoinder, Bucky’s walking away to assist someone else. _Teasing bastard._

* * *

 

“Thank you all for practicing with me today,” Bucky says quietly, before making eye contact with every single person in the room. It’s his customary practice and Steve kind of loves it. Loves how caring and compassionate he is. Loves his patience. Loves his empathy.

Loves him.

A flame stokes in his heart.

He tries to convey it in his gaze when Bucky’s eyes meet his. He can see Bucky’s eyes imperceptibly widen, then the beautiful smile brightens into something so precious it almost makes Steve want to look away from it, but he can’t. 

When the class wraps up, Steve waits. Sits patiently while Bucky chats up the rest of the class as they pack up and leave. Sits as he blows out the candles, sprays his mat, rolls it up to shove in his gym bag. It’s only when he’s all set and ready to go that he stands up and moves to leave. 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” 

Steve can’t hide his smile as he turns from the door. Bucky’s standing in the middle of the yoga room, hands on his hips, looking like a petulant child left behind from a fun trip. 

Steve looks around to make sure they’re the only ones left in the room, but still keeps his voice quiet. “I figured you’d want to get out of here so I can get you back to one of our apartments and get my mouth on you.” 

He catches a slight glimpse of Bucky’s dropped jaw before he turns on his heel and walks out the door.

* * *

 

He's got Bucky pushed up against his kitchen counter after they manage to down some post-yoga smoothies. He kisses every single inch of Bucky’s chest and stomach, taking care to move his tongue around the other man’s nipples – he’s rewarded with a sharp hiss. “Oh, God, baby,” Bucky murmurs. Steve grins against his skin as one hand slides down his stomach, dipping past the waistband. “You’re still all sweaty,” he remarks. “Is that cool with you, or do you want to get in the shower?”

“We can shower in a second, just don’t stop touching me or I’ll kill you.”

"But I want to suck you off in the shower."

“Oh, I _hate_ you.”

"Okay, then I won't suck you off?"

"...I  _really_ hate you."

* * *

The water hits the back of Steve’s head as he licks a long, aching stripe along the underside of Bucky’s dick. Bucky’s back hits the wall of the shower with a satisfying thunk. Steve moves his teeth along the side of velvet skin – not to cause pain, just so Bucky can feel the hard pressure against him. Bucky’s hips jerk up a little bit; Steve uses his hands to pin Bucky’s hips against the wall, massages into Bucky’s wet skin with the pads of his thumbs. “Don’t move,” he murmurs against wet skin, closes his mouth around the head of Bucky’s cock, fucking his face on it. The sound that comes out of Bucky at that contact makes Steve grab the base of himself so he doesn’t come. Everything about this man is perfection. Brave. Kind. Honest. Gorgeous. Funny. Everything he could possibly want is right here, in front of him, and the sounds are because of something _he’s_ doing.

He pulls off with a wet sound. “God, I love you,” he murmurs against Bucky’s groin.

The sound of the shower dies out. He can feel Bucky go slack underneath his thumbs. 

“What?” Bucky whispers. 

“I…shit. This is not how I wanted that to go.” Steve can’t even look at Bucky in the eye. 

“Steve,” Bucky says, clearly trying to keep his voice even, “Please look at me. Unless you were saying ‘I love you’ to my penis.”

“Well, who’s to say I wasn’t? It's clearly loving me right now." He gives the head of Bucky a little kitten lick. 

“Oh my God!” Bucky reaches down, yanks Steve up to face level. “Steve, don’t mess around with me right now!”

“Okay, okay!” Steve laughs, and is relieved to find that Bucky’s eyes are smiling too. He smoothes back Bucky’s hair from his face in thick handfuls, takes in his face. “Bucky.”

“Steve.” 

“I love you.” 

Bucky’s face crinkles up into a smile that opens a hundred thousand lotus flowers in Steve’s chest. Trascendent. Purifying. “I love you too.” 

His kiss tastes like sweat, water, and Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably one more chapter after this one, an epilogue of sorts. This has been SUCH a fun series to write. Stay tuned, I'm plotting out a REALLY great one after this.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always SO appreciated!
> 
> [tumblr!](http://marciellaniello.tumblr.com)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Races are run, leaps are made, happy endings in sight.

 

Once again, it’s too goddamn early to be alive. And this time Bucky isn’t even getting up for any physical activity other than just standing around in the dawn light, watching other people run. But it’s worth it. Just this once.

He wakes to the alarm and his head buried in Steve’s shoulder, arm thrown across the other man’s torso. He lets out a whuff of annoyance and Steve’s voice, husky with sleep, murmurs “Babe, you gotta move your arm.” 

“Noooooo,” Bucky protests, snuggling in more. Steve laughs. “Baby, I trained too damn long for this thing. We gotta go.”

“Mmph, fine.” Bucky begrudgingly moves to let Steve out of bed. “Can I stay in bed until you’re ready?” 

Steve chuckles again, presses a kiss to Bucky’s forehead. Bucky usually thinks that kind of endearment is a little silly, but with Steve, everything is new. “Yeah. I promise.” 

Way too quickly, Steve’s poking an already-slumbering Bucky in the side to get him out of bed. He manages to scrounge up some layers in case the day gets really hot, and he and Steve head out. 

They spent the night at Bucky’s apartment since the start of the race was off the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens and Bucky’s place was closer to Prospect Park. The first seven or so miles were more or less a looping track around the park, and the seventh mile marker was at the mouth of the park before the course turned onto the Ocean Parkway. Bucky planned to spectate at that marker so he’d be able to throw Steve some energy gels, and maybe get a sweaty kiss for his troubles. 

“I’ll text you when we get started, okay?” Steve says as they move to split off so Bucky can grab a taxi to the other side of the park. Bucky nods, and pulls Steve in for a deep good luck kiss. “I wish I were running this with you,” he whispers against Steve’s mouth. 

“No, you don’t,” Steve grins. 

“Yes I do!” Bucky responds, feinting affront. “I hate running but I love you.” And he does. Dearly. 

“I love you too.” Steve’s eyes glow in the dawn light, like blue skies and the navy of the American flag. He gives Bucky one last peck and pats him on the butt. “Get going.” 

Nat manages to catch up to Bucky as he’s making his way to the crowd of spectators. She’s holding a sign that says _Go Captain America_ with a little glittery American flag in the corner. On the other side it says _Run For Bacon._ “Why don’t you have a sign?” she asks, a little huffy.

“Oh, I do.” Bucky smirks and pulls out a folded sign from his backpack. Written across the poster board in bright, looping script, is _I Love Steve Rogers_.

Nat’s face scrunches up like she just saw a puppy. “That is so damn cute.”

“Well, not really. Wait until you see the flip side.”

* * *

 

Bucky manages to snag a coffee for himself and Nat from the little truck on the spectator side right when the leaders manage to snake by at around the 30 minute mark. They don’t expect Steve to come around until at least the hour mark; Steve had told him the night before over pasta and grilled chicken that he’d be thrilled at anything under 2 hours, but Bucky is convinced he can break 1:45. Nat is more conservative, predicting just under two, and she decides Sharon will beat Steve’s time. She’s right – at one hour exactly, Sharon breezes past, accompanied by Sam. They both seem to be doing okay (Sam looking a little more peaked than Sharon) and they manage to swing by for high fives as they pass. It’s a beautiful day – not too hot, so the runners don’t look too tired from the sun beating down, and Bucky sheds his layers until he’s in a tshirt and running shorts.

He’s stuffing his hat into a backpack when Nat smacks his arm. “There he is!”

Steve’s frame is obvious from the distance, flushed and glorious, running at an easy gait. Bucky frantically whips out his sign and flashes it in the blonde’s direction. Steve squints, then mouths _Seriously_

On the second side of the sign, Bucky has written in block letters _DON’T POOP YOUR PANTS!_ Underneath the command, he's pasted a printout of the poop and thumbs up emojis. 

Steve’s still laughing by the time he gets to Bucky, and stops just long enough to get an energy Blok and a kiss. 

When he goes on his way, Bucky turns to Nat. “Okay, let’s go.”

They manage to get to the finishing corral around the time Steve, Sam, and Sharon are getting their medals. Steve looks fresh as a daisy (that bastard) and Sam and Sharon are none the worse for wear, although Sam looks like he wants to take a thirty-hour nap.

“I need a massage, or a yoga class, or something,” Sharon moans, pulling her quad up for a stretch. Sam nods as he rips into a bagel. “I’m going to spend the rest of the day eating and wishing my legs would fall off.”

“Oh come on, it wasn’t that bad!” Steve grins. “The course was relatively flat.” 

“You’re just saying that because you’re a superhero.” 

“Nah. Just a very lucky guy.” Suddenly his arms are wrapped tight around Bucky. He feels like sweat and striated muscle and he stinks to high heaven and Bucky couldn’t give less of a shit. Steve’s all his. Whole and happy and _huge_ and his. 

* * *

The only sound in the room is quiet, deep breathing as Bucky slowly moves his fingers in and out of Steve. Steve is much quieter when he’s getting opened up – more introspective, eyes squinting in concentration.  


“Steve, act like you’re enjoying this,” Bucky cracks, and Steve lets out a long sigh. “I am, I swear! It’s just been…it’s been a while since I’ve done this. Not used to it.”

“Okay, but give me some indication that this feels good. You look like you’re having a prostate exam.”

Steve lifts an eyebrow, then starts to aggressively moan. “Oh, Bucky, your fingers feel so good in my tight, hot ass, please stick your big dick in me.”

“You know what, if you’re going to be a bitch about this I won’t fuck you at all!” Bucky snaps, pulling his fingers out and flopping face down on the bed in a fit of pique. Steve roars with laughter, draping his body over Bucky’s back. “I’m sorry, babe!”

He drops open-mouthed kisses to Bucky’s shoulders. “Please, Bucky,” he continues, his voice dropping to a register that makes Bucky’s entire body buzz with sudden heat. “Please, please Bucky.” 

He can’t give in so easily. “Please what?” 

“Please put your fingers in me. Want you to open me up. Want you to be the one to fuck me.” Steve’s timbre is a complete 180 from earlier. He takes up Bucky’s hand and pulls it behind him so Bucky can reach his ass. “No one has fucked me in so long. Been waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” Bucky breathes. 

“For you, Bucky. I’ve been waiting for you.”

That does it. Bucky’s got Steve pinned under him in nearly 2 seconds flat. “You think you can take me now?” He’s so hard he doesn’t think he can handle any more prep time, but he won’t move a muscle if Steve’s not ready.

Steve smiles and says nothing, just reaches for the condom on the bedside table. Bucky leans down to kiss him as Steve rolls the rubber onto him. 

When he slides into Steve, slowly so he can adjust, it’s like coming home. 

Steve will always be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnnd we are done! This was really fun. It's my first long-form AU but it won't be the last. I've got two MAJOR ones lined up. Look for those soon!
> 
> Comments and kudos make me so happy!
> 
> [Tumblr!](http://marciellaniello.tumblr.com)


End file.
